T'nash-veh
by Theyumenoinu
Summary: [[Sequel to: You Called Me Beautiful]] Re-adjusting to civilian life was already tough enough without having to re-live his past and attempt to gain the acceptance of the Vulcan race. But to lose the one he loves over a stupid misunderstanding had to be the worst of it all. Can things be fixed before it's too late? Kirk/Spock Slash.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: So, since a good majority of you are demanding it, here is the sequel! I watched the deleted scene of the two Kirk brothers and I kind of made it my own. Also, I didn't like the fact he called him "Johnny", I prefer "Sam" more so please don't make a comment about that! Please note that Jim's past is not going to be a happy one, and if such things trigger you, I advise you to skip over the **_**italic **_**parts. Enjoy!**

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**THIS IS THE SEQUEL TO: You Called Me Beautiful**

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**Pairing: Kirk/Spock**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Star Trek franchise or its characters.**

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**T'nash-veh**

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**Chapter One**

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"_You are no one!" The man spat, a repugnant aroma puffing out between his lips with each emphasis. _

_Jim shrank back as the man took a daunting step toward him, the nearly empty beer bottle clutched tightly in his fist, knuckles glowing white as the skin strained with the pressure. Dark eyes scrutinized heavily, ablaze with malice—a pale flush coloring the clammy flesh of his cheeks. He quickly interpreted the expression, acknowledging it as a warning—a promise for impending pain. Taking a tentative step backward, he peered around the broad chest at the boy who stood rigid, face paling as he observed the scene before him._

_A scene he'd experienced on numerous occasions. _

_Jim silently pleaded as the man advanced on him, begging him with his eyes for aid—a distraction. The boy shook his head curtly, pivoting on his heel, gracing him with his backside. For a terrifying moment he believed the older boy would flee and leave him to fend for himself, but relief poured over him as he whirled back around, face set in stern lines. _

"_You're just jealous that she will never love you like she did him!"_

_This caught the man's attention. He whirled around to face the older boy, a growl emanating from his throat. _

"_Like I give a shit about what you think! In case you haven't noticed, she's abandoned you! And now you want to leave? Good, one less mouth to feed!" He bellowed, ignoring Jim as he stealthily maneuvered around him. _

"_You don't feed us!" The boy retorted, "You're a pathetic deadbeat!"_

_The man flung the bottle clumsily in the older boy's direction who took a small step to the side, dodging it with ease. _

"_Get the hell out of here!" _

"_I'd love to!" He declared as he pivoted again, storming off down the unleveled road, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake. _

_The bloodshot eyes shot back to Jim and his heart leapt into his throat. Rotating on the balls of his feet, he fled before the man could regain his vexation for him—a target for his fury. His chest burned as he jogged down the desolate road—attempting to catch up to the long strides of the older boy. _

"_Sam!" _

_The boy didn't halt but decreased his pace, allowing Jim to ease to a quickened stride beside him. _

"_Don't try to stop me, Jim. I've been putting this off for far too long." He stated firmly, sight fixated on a distant focal point. _

"_Then…then take me with you!" Jim replied breathlessly, "You can't leave me here!"_

_Sam abruptly halted, hands clenching and flexing as he contemplated Jim's plan. _

_Brown eyes softened as they laid upon the small blond, a hand reaching out, trembling as it rested onto Jim's skeletal shoulder, "I can't." He replied dolefully. _

"_Why?" _

_Sam shook his head, "I can't take care of you."_

"_I can take care of myself!"_

"_No. You need to stay here." The hand slipped away as he regained his previous determined demeanor. "Don't follow me."_

_Jim stared silently at the back of the plaid blue jacket as it steadily vanished into the distance. A sense of hopelessness weighed down upon him as he reluctantly turned and headed back for the hovel he dejectedly referred to as "home". Their mother had abandoned them several months prior, gladly accepting a two-year deep space mission rather than raise the boys who reminded her of the man she had lost—leaving them in the care of their alcoholic, abusive stepfather, Frank._

_Now his brother was gone as well._

_He was alone. _

_Suddenly, he was in his father's convertible flying down the road at an incredible speed. The only sentimental treasure left of the great "George Kirk". It would serve as a purpose—a lesson to all those who compared him and expected him to uphold the legacy by becoming a man he had never met. To be the man his mother saw as she stared down her nose at him with haunted, bloodshot eyes. _

_If he were no longer around, his mother wouldn't cry anymore. His brother wouldn't have to stare with disdainful eyes as he was easily distinguished in public or feel the need to protect him against Frank._

_He wouldn't have to bear this dismal existence anymore. _

_The words on everyone's lips would not be his father's name, it would finally be his._

_The cliff was drawing near and he hastily shifted gears, gaining as much speed as the antique automotive would allow. It was time to leave the shadowed memory of a man he could never be behind him. It was time to end the pain. _

_It was time to end it all. _

_Once the car was merely a few meters away, he was suddenly struck with Frank's words. Did he want to be known for this? Were there options he was overlooking? _

_Could he become somebody and rub it in Frank's face?_

_Should he live?_

"_Shit!" He screamed as he yanked the wheel causing the convertible to make an abrupt turn, skidding on the loose gravel sideways. _

_Realizing it was now or never, he flung himself from the vehicle, feeling as though time froze as he watched his body fly over the edge. He hit the ground hard, the breath stolen from him as he scrambled to grip onto the ledge. Managing to grasp ahold of a small indention of earth, his lower region dangled limply—heart pounding as his grip steadily weakened._

"_Who are you?" A strange voice demanded above him._

_Struggling to hold on, he glanced up to find…_

"_S-Spock?" He whispered incredulously, staring up into two dark orbs._

_The Vulcan remained silent as Jim desperately reached out a hand, the motion proving hazardous as his other hand unexpectedly lost its grip, slipping over the edge. Watching helplessly as the ground sped up to meet him._

Jim bolted upright from the bed, perspiration coating his skin in a thin sticky layer, sending a chill along his flesh as the crisp morning air filtered through the window. He panted heavily as he struggled to detangle himself from the bed sheets bundled at his legs. Swallowing thickly, he inhaled a deep breath, attempting to ease the frantic heart pounding against his ribcage.

Once the adrenaline ebbed, he glimpsed down beside him at the serene Vulcan still slumbering peacefully. A small smile etched across his face as he reached for the unkempt hair, smoothing it as he admired his features, eyes tracing down the exposed pale torso to the curve of his hip where the sheet was draped elegantly, concealing the remainder of his figure.

Jim sighed, scrubbing at his face feverishly before promptly sliding from the mattress, silently cursing as his bare feet connected with the icy linoleum flooring. Releasing another heavy sigh, he snatched the sweatpants from the chair beside the bed, yanking them on irritably as he sought out the chronometer.

06:47

He grunted with annoyance, it was too early to be up and about, but he acknowledged the fact he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep even if he desired to. His subconscious was already enlightening him to the dreadful events of the day.

Shuffling through the temporary quarters, he glanced around wearily. Today was the final day Starfleet would allow him to inhabit the space, only giving him three days access while he sought out living arrangements during his temporary suspension. Unfortunately for him, the only available resource he had at his disposal was Riverside since the next available transport shuttle to _New Vulcan _wasn't scheduled to depart for another two weeks.

He was anything but happy about that.

And to his dismay, neither was his mother who reluctantly agreed to house him until then.

Rays of light filtered through the cracks of the blinds, illuminating the small space dimly. Pulling back the curtains, he unlatched the glass door, sliding it open and shivering as a cool breeze caressed the damp flesh of his torso. Padding across the balcony, he gripped the steel railing, peering over it to observe the Starfleet personal exiting the building—most likely residing in the temporary quarters as they waited to embark on their deep space missions.

_They don't know how lucky they are. _He thought bitterly, already yearning for the comforts of space—his ship.

Resting his forearms onto the railing, he placed his chin upon them, regarding the beauty of the rising sun. He had to admit, he had missed it—the mixture of reds, yellows, oranges and pinks. It was such a rarity now—how had he taken such tranquility for granted all these years?

_Maybe…maybe this might be a good thing for me. _

He shook his head vigorously, clearing away the absurd thought.

_Or maybe I'm just falling for Starfleet's trap—that'd be exactly what they'd want._

Jim wasn't sure how long he had been standing there, acknowledging that some time had passed with the positioning of the sun and the numbing of his hands and bare feet. He lacked the motivation to return inside since it would only mean he would have to eventually pack up his belongings and head out to a transport shuttle which would cart him straight to Iowa.

Straight to the hell he thought he had escaped.

Scorching hands suddenly caressed the icy flesh of his backside and he jumped slightly in alarm. They snaked around his waist, tugging him gently from his hunched position and backward against the heated body, nearly burning his skin at the contact.

The Vulcan's face nuzzled the flesh of his flushed, numb cheek. Murmuring in the shell of his ear, "What is troubling you?"

Jim melted into the embrace, shutting his eyes as he reveled in the Vulcan's heat.

Sighing softly, he replied, "It's nothing."

Heated lips traced over his jaw, warm air billowing from parted lips, "I am unconvinced as you are notorious for concealing personal turmoil."

"_And_ you can read my thoughts." Jim added blandly.

"I am only capable of receiving vague emotions through our bond, _ashayam_, and I perceived them to be disconcerting." He replied gently.

Jim released an audible breath as a small shiver ran along his frame, the arms tightening around him in response.

"Your temperature has decreased exponentially. Would it not be more accommodating to proceed with this confabulation where you are not at risk for certain ailments?"

"It would." He replied sullenly.

"Then we are in agreement to return indoors?" Spock inquired tentatively.

"I didn't say I agreed." Jim retorted.

There was a small pause before the Vulcan continued, voice firm, "The probability that you could succumb to illness—"

"Okay, okay." He huffed, "I'll go inside, geez. You're really starting to sound like Bones, you know that?"

The warm arms slid from around him as he replied, "I will disregard that comparison as I am aware that I do not possess such outlandish speech sequences. However, I will remain concerned for your well-being and do not oppose to the Doctor's warranted concerns as well."

Jim shook his head, "You're something else."

The predictable eyebrow arched curiously as he strode from the balcony, feeling the familiar shadow at his backside and shivering once his body penetrated the invisible barrier of heat.

_When did he turn on the heat?_

"I adjusted the thermal reading as soon as I regained consciousness." The Vulcan replied evenly behind him, sliding the glass door closed behind them.

"Quit doing that."

"My apologies."

Jim snorted disbelievingly before shuffling toward the cramped living area, plopping down onto the leather sofa, rubbing at his chilled arms absentmindedly. Curling into a ball, he tucked his frozen toes underneath him, resting his head awkwardly at an odd angle. The Vulcan ticked his head to the side, dark eyes ghosting over him briefly before pivoting on his heel, striding dutifully toward the bedroom.

It wasn't long before Spock returned. Feeling the small dip of the cushions as he fluently seated himself beside him and was surprised as a heated blanket was draped over his form—pale hands tucking it gingerly around him.

"I don't need to be coddled." Jim stated irritably.

"I did not intend to 'coddle' you, _T'hy'la_. You were chilled, so I retrieved what was necessary to return your internal temperature to a more preferable degree." He replied evenly.

Jim sighed, hiking the blanket up to his chin before replying sensually, "It would've been _more_ preferable if it were _you_ warming me up." A small grin expanded on his features, eyebrows wiggling.

The corner of the Vulcan's mouth twitched slightly, a fleeting thought flickering within the dark pools of his eyes, "I do not believe it is wise to indulge in such activities whilst we are on a time constraint."

He pouted, eyes ghosting over Spock's form, feeling utterly depressed that the Vulcan had dressed before Jim could indulge in another appreciative glance of his intoxicating body.

"Alright." He huffed, "I guess you're right."

"Jim."

Glancing back toward the Vulcan, his eyebrows hiked curiously.

"Yeah?"

"You have not enlightened me to your peculiar disposition this morning." He pinned Jim with a hardened gaze that Jim quickly deciphered as the "I'm-not-going-to-drop-this" stare.

"I'm…" He trailed off, a hand escaping from beneath the bundled fabric, scrubbing through his hair nervously, "I'm…not looking forward to going home." He cringed at his own callousness, mentally slapping himself for expressing such disdain for a home he still possessed while Spock had tragically lost his. "I'm sorry." Jim added hastily, averting his gaze.

Silence filtered in the space between them momentarily before the Vulcan spoke tentatively, "May I inquire the reason you feel unease toward the concept of returning to your previous residence?"

Jim swallowed thickly. He had never conversed with anyone about his past—with only the exception of Bones. Was he ready to dive into that particular subject with Spock? Would he understand? Would he believe him?

"I…don't know if…if I could say right now." His voice wavered, curling himself into a tighter ball, heart rate accelerating. "There's…I'm not sure if…"

There was a sudden swish of cloth before arms snaked around him, pulling him into the Vulcan for the second time that morning. His head rested in the crook of Spock's neck as pads of warm fingers traced along the exposed skin of his backside.

"Calm, _T'hy'la_." Placing a gentle kiss into Jim's matted hair, he soothed, "I am here."

"Where…where did you learn to be this…affectionate?" Jim inquired meekly.

Another short pause.

"My mother."

Jim stilled, a pressure compressed his chest at the comment.

"I see." Jim mumbled, ashamed.

How could he inform Spock about the strain with his mother when he had lost his own? How could Jim complain about his pain at all when it hardly compared to the loss his Vulcan had to endure?

"Speak your mind, _ashayam_." Spock pressed gently. "We are bonded—allow me to share your burdens."

That just caused him to feel worse.

Jim replied dolefully, "I'll tell you when the time is right." He shifted his head slightly, reconnecting with the dark eyes, "But I think you might understand once we reach Riverside."

Brown eyes analyzed Jim's face carefully, nodding uncertainly, "I will not pressure you for details, _ashayam_; however, I am concerned."

Jim scrutinized the pale face cautiously for a moment before his hand reached up, cupping the flesh of the Vulcan's cheek, gently guiding him down into a chaste kiss. Their connection flared at the contact, the buzz now soothing instead of irritating as it once was when they had first bonded. Through the connection, he felt a vague sense of concern and fear that didn't belong to him, and he attempted to reply to those emotions with that of love and comfort. Although if it were working or not he wouldn't really know—Spock hadn't quite elaborated on the use of their bond.

He pulled away, issuing his trademark grin in an attempt to ease Spock's unease.

"I'll be all right, Spock."

He released an audible breath, "I will—as you phrase—'believe it when I see it'." Two pale fingers brushed over the tan hand that remained caressing the Vulcan's cheek. "I cherish thee, _T'hy'la_."

Jim rose up, placing another brief kiss upon the Vulcan's lips before he replied, "I love you too."

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**A/N: So, I hope that's a good start…thank you for continuing to follow this story! And please don't forget to review!.**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Wow…I am truly blown away by the amount of people who are continuing to follow! Thank you all so much for your support and I hope I continue to produce satisfying chapters. **

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**T'nash-veh**

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**Chapter Two**

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"I will purchase our tickets." Spock declared as he placed two small duffel bags onto the platform.

Jim pinned him with a withering stare, an overwhelming sense of guilt washing over him. Here he was permitting the Vulcan to relinquish his hard-earned position aboard one of Starfleet's elite ships to ensue him to an oppressive, desolate town—the bane of his existence. Although Spock had stated he wouldn't abandon him due to being his mate, he couldn't help but wonder if there were underlining intentions that determined his irrefutable decision. Was it simply because they were bond-mates or was there something more he was concealing?

"Spock." He called as the Vulcan turned to head for the sales booth.

"Jim?" He inquired as he abruptly halted, an eyebrow rising expectantly.

He shifted his weight between feet, rubbing feverishly at the nape of his neck.

"Are you…sure about this? You can always change your mind, I'd understand." Jim offered meekly—nearly hoping that Spock wouldn't be subjected to the inevitable events that were about to occur.

The Vulcan's head ticked to the side, "I had been under the impression we had concluded this dispute." He stated as his arms folded stiffly behind him, clasping his hands at the small of his back. Taking two small steps toward Jim, he regarded him earnestly, "Do you not wish for me to accompany you?"

Jim's eyes widened at the statement, "No, no! That's…I didn't mean to make it sound like that. It's just…well, shit…Spock," He glanced around anxiously, "You deserve to be in space, not here babysitting me. There's nothing to do in Iowa, it'll be boring." A weak chuckle filtered through the crevice of his lips as he proclaimed, "There's nothing there—I'll be fine!"

Spock pinned him with a vapid stare that clearly illustrated his skepticism.

"I appreciate your concerns; however, I have become quite versed in your mannerisms to interpret when you are distinctly attempting to withdraw from me." Jim deflated at the comment, fidgeting with the hem of his standard black fatigues. "Also, you have demonstrated distress over the course of three days that indicates your statement that nothing amiss will befall you is indeed delusive."

He gawked at him, abashed, "Yeah…well, that doesn't mean you need to hover over me—I'm not a _child_."

The eyebrow arched again, an emotion flickering beneath the dark eyes, "May I remind you of several occurrences where you required aid after indulging in inebriants? The most recent incident nearly—"

Jim released a flustered sound, folding his arms neatly over his chest in agitation.

"_Yes_, Spock, I _remember_. Besides, the Admiralty wouldn't have _known_ about that if _you_ hadn't filed that report!" He retorted with a pang of annoyance.

"It would have been against standard protocol to fail to report any action that may have jeopardized the ship, its crew, or the mission at hand." He retorted smoothly.

A harsh, disbelieving laugh burst from Jim, "How did I know that's what you'd say? And almost word for word too!"

"I do not understand."

Jim shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Nothing, Spock. Just forget it."

Aphotic eyes ghosted over his frame inquisitively.

"Perhaps I may have constituted a rash decision?"

"_May_ have?" Jim riposted. "Shit, do you even realize _why _that happened?" As Spock's jaw unhinged to reply, he quickly raised his hand to silence him, "No…never mind. We'll talk about this some other time when we're not in public." The Vulcan's mouth snapped shut and Jim sighed heavily, "So…you're telling me if I _tell _you to return to the _Enterprise_, you would?"

"If you desire it, I will be inclined to do so; however, I do not wish to." A hint of something Jim couldn't quite decipher underlined his tone.

"I'm not going to command you to leave, Spock. I'm not your Captain anymore. You're welcome to join me if that's what you want."

He nodded uncertainly, eyebrows furrowing imperceptibly.

"Your apprehension toward my companionship is most peculiar."

Jim nodded solemnly, averting his gaze as he whispered, "I just…don't want you to see this."

"_Ashayam_…?" He trailed off—arms slid from behind his back before a pale hand tentatively rose toward his.

"Jim!" A voice bellowed from behind him as a large crowd bombarded the platform—noticing out of peripheral vision as the pale hand retracted with haste.

Jim whirled around, spotting Bones at a distance, wrestling through the crowd to attempt to reach them.

"I will return." Spock quickly stated with a hint of irritation before traipsing off.

Jim glimpsed at the broad back. _What's his problem? _Shrugging it off, he snatched the bags from the ground and hoisted them with ease over his shoulder as he began to weave through civilians that stormed through the terminal—watching with mild amusement as Bones nearly shoved people out of his way. Jim chuckled at the man's struggle before he was forced to dodge a woman who was half-jogging down the platform, too absorbed in fiddling with her PADD to give notice to the man she almost rammed into.

He pivoted slightly to watch her disappear into the crowd before letting out a yelp of surprise as he collided with something solid—reflexively dropping the bags to catch the child who stumbled backwards from the impact.

"Whoa! Hey, are you all right?" Jim steadied the girl, bending down to one knee to become eye level with her.

She remained silent with her head tilted down, ebony bangs hiding her features while long strands flowed over her shoulders elegantly. What struck him as peculiar was her attire: a faded blue shirt and overalls, a beanie covering her head, muddied boots. She didn't appear to be from the city and couldn't be more than eight years of age.

"Hey." He said gently, "I'm sorry I didn't see you. You don't have to be afraid, I just want to know if I had hurt you."

After a hesitant pause, she shook her head curtly.

Jim released an audible breath, "Alright, that's good. Are you all al—?" He was cut off as she abruptly dug into the pocket of her overalls, producing a shiny instrument that Jim recognized instantly. Surprised as she tentatively raised it up to him—a silent offering. Baffled, he accepted the device and reveled at the familiar weight. "Where…did you get this? Only active Starfleet officers and personal are issued these."

She glanced up at that moment and Jim inhaled sharply as he was met with atypical eyes. The right iris radiated a brilliant blue—Jim analyzed the different hues as it glittered brilliantly in the sunlight. The other was a dark chocolate—pulling him into its depths, and emitted an eerie tranquility. Strands of her bangs caressed the dark lashes of her eyes, framing them and captivating him with their peculiar beauty.

"Jim!"

He blinked, breaking the strange connection to glance up to Bones who was closing in quickly.

"Hey Bones!" He called out, issuing a lopsided grin before diverting his attention back to the child and jerked slightly in alarm to find that she had unexpectedly vanished.

"Dammit, man! Why didn't you meet me half-way?" The man groused as he abruptly halted beside him, panting slightly from exertion. Eyebrows furrowing, he demanded, "Is that a…?"

"No it's not." Jim interjected, pocketing the device as he reached for the bags.

"Don't try to bullshit me, I'm not blind! I know a phaser when I see it!" He hissed as Jim ascended, slinging the bags back over his shoulder. "What'd you do, steal one as soon as they confiscated yours, because that would be the most idiotic thing you could do right now."

"Relax, I didn't steal it." Jim replied nonchalantly, "And you wouldn't believe how I got it even if I told you."

"Yeah, well, I don't think I _want _to know." He retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

Jim issued a non-committal shrug, "So, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be back on the ship by now?"

Bones released a disgruntled snort, "Yeah and leave you—the guy who nearly died from an allergic reaction over a damn flower—alone? You wouldn't survive without me, so I requested a temporary leave."

"Don't tell me you're going to be tagging along too." Jim grumbled crossly.

"Don't be an idiot, why would I want to waste a year of my life babysitting you?" He groused, "I'm heading back to Georgia to spend time with Joanna. Her mother's going in for surgery, so this is an opportune time. Plus, I won't be light-years away in case you need me."

"I'm not going to _need _you, Bones. I can take care of myself."

"Jim." He stated gravely, pinning Jim with a hardened gaze, "I know where you're headed. Do you think just because you're a Starfleet Captain now that it'll mean things have changed?"

Jim shook his head solemnly, patting the man's shoulder with his unhindered hand, "I'll be all right."

Bones released an aggravated sigh, "Right, you always say that. Then either I or the damn hobgoblin have to come save your ass."

"Well…at least I keep you on your toes." Jim countered smugly.

Grunting and rolling his eyes, Bones glanced over his shoulder and grumbled exasperatedly as the dark figure approached them, "Speaking of hobgoblins…" Clearing his throat, he greeted the Vulcan listlessly, "Spock."

"Doctor." Spock nodded curtly with acknowledgement.

There was a brief moment of intangible tension before Bones dismissed it.

"Well, three's a crowd, Jim. I better take off—_Comm. _me for anything. Wait, I take that back, don't even think about calling me for another late night 'guess-what-I-have-playing-on-the-holovid' bullshit again." He huffed before spitting through gritted teeth, "So help me god, Jim, if it's not an emergency, I will make sure your next physical will be as painful as possible."

Jim grinned wryly, "C'mon, Bones, how else am I going to pass the time?"

"I don't know and I don't care, just don't involve me—got it?"

"No promises."

Throwing up his hands, he muttered bitterly to the sky, "What did I do to deserve this?" Pivoting on his heel, he marched back through the crowd, cursing as a man clipped his arm upon passing.

Jim sighed, glancing toward the Vulcan who stood rigid, brown eyes analyzing him cautiously.

"Guess we'd better go catch the shuttle." Jim muttered dolefully.

"Indeed."

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The passengers aboard the shuttle were sparse and Jim wasn't completely surprised—more thankful than anything that none of them had seemed to recognize him from his live debut only a few short days ago. They shuffled through the isle until they reached their seats—secluded in the corner toward the rear. Jim plopped down by the window, scrutinizing the bustling crowds outside in the terminal and silently wishing he could trade places with any one of them.

A violent rattle shook the metal contraption as it abruptly propelled forward, causing Jim to grip onto the seat in front of him to steady himself.

"Shit, you think they'd at least warn us." Jim hissed under his breath as the platform vanished from view, rays of the midday sun streaming through the glass as the shuttle departed the building, nearly blinding him.

"_T'hy'la, may I inquire as to how you've come into possession of a phaser?"_

Jim jumped at the sudden voice echoing inside his skull.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you." He muttered, rubbing his eyes vigorously, blinking through the black dots dancing in his vision. "How'd you even know I had one?"

"_I spotted the handle peeking from your pocket."_

Jim shot him a devilish grin as he softly murmured, "Was there a particular reason you were staring at my pants?"

The Vulcan glanced away, a green hue tinting the tips of his ears.

"_I had no prior interest in observing your trousers, Jim. The sunlight reflected off the device and thus caught my attention." _

"Right, keep telling yourself that."

"Jim, you are avoiding the question." Spock stated flatly, pinning him with a stern expression.

He chuckled with amusement, "Why are you asking this inside my head?"

"It is a private matter that I had not desired to be overheard."

"You _know_ I don't know how to reply to you, so doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?" Jim countered, leaning back and slouching in his chair.

"The method is not as complex as you presume." He replied evenly.

Jim snorted incredulously, "Maybe not to _you_. Humans are psi-null remember?"

The Vulcan nodded curtly, "That is correct; however, I would not oppose to an attempt."

Jim sighed heavily, folding his arms over his chest.

"Alright…what do I need to do?"

"Focus on our bond, Jim. Pinpoint my energy, then project your thoughts toward that source."

Huffing, he shut his eyes reluctantly, attempting to block out the sights and sounds of the rattling metal cage surrounding them. Reining in his chaotic thoughts, he struggled to locate the strange connection at the back of his skull, feeling ridiculous when he came up short.

"I can't find anything." Jim muttered irritably.

A warm hand brushed against his, the contact eliciting the familiar buzz as a warm glow illuminating his mind.

_Is this it?_

"_Yes, Jim."_

"Holy shit—you heard that?" Jim blurted, eyes snapping open.

His sudden outburst roused the passengers—shooting quick curious glances over their shoulders before murmuring amongst themselves.

"Yes." Spock replied evenly, a twitch occurring at the corner of his mouth.

"_Your astonishment is remarkably pleasing, ashayam."_

Jim beamed, keeping a firm grasp—if that were possible—onto the warm glow as he tested his ability to operate the connection again.

_Did you just call me cute?_

A glint flickered within the dark pools of his eyes.

"_Possibly." _

Jim shook his head, the grin never faltering.

_This is kind of creepy._

"_Indeed?"_

_Yeah, don't you find it weird having my voice inside your head?_

"_I do not object to having any form of you inside me, T'hy'la." _

Jim choked on his own saliva, coughing as he desperately fought the heat creeping into his face. The action caused the murmuring passengers to pause and scrutinize them again, causing Jim to sink further down into the seat.

_You did that on purpose!_

"_I do not understand your meaning."_

_Bullshit! That was payback for my earlier comment about my pants wasn't it?_

"_Vulcans do not seek revenge."_

_Yeah, sure they don't. You're going to pay for that. _

"_Indeed?"_

_You won't even know what hit you._

"_I see."_

A heavy silence filtered between them, listening to the creaks and groans of the shuttle and the hushed whispers of the nosey passengers.

"_You have yet to satiate my curiosity, Jim."_

Jim sighed, listing heavily to the side, resting his head against the cool glass of the window.

_A…girl gave it to me._

"_Would you elaborate?"_

_Well…she was this child I accidentally ran into at the terminal. She didn't say anything, just handed me the phaser and vanished._

Spock whipped his head around to Jim, an expression akin to surprise plastered on his face.

"_Fascinating. Are you positive the device had not been pre-set to detonate?"_

_What? Why the hell would you think that?_

"_You are the infamous James Kirk—there are individuals who may perceive you as a threat."_

And on that note Jim fumbled for the device, clumsily tugging it from his pocket before promptly examining it. It didn't appear to be tampered with and the safety was on. Shrugging, he re-pocketed the phaser, glancing curiously toward the Vulcan.

"Guess it was just a random occurrence." He stated uncertainly.

The Vulcan nodded warily before averting his gaze, subtly hinting the end of the conversation.

The remainder of the ride was weighed with an intangible silence, the whispers dying down shortly after their own conversation concluded. Jim observed the last rays of light as they faded away, darkness steadily sweeping across the barren land.

The shuttle pulled into the quaint outdoor terminal of Riverside, settling onto the landing pad jerkily, emitting a loud hiss that vibrated the compartment violently. Numbly, he ascended from the seat, chest constricting as he reluctantly ensued the Vulcan out the doors and onto the poorly lit platform. Inhaling a shaky breath in a feeble attempt to calm his frantic heart, he sidled up to his Vulcan, arm brushing against his as he scanned the scenery that was now blanketed with darkness.

"_Ashayam_…are you all right?" Spock murmured softly as the passengers filed out behind them.

Jim swallowed thickly, voice catching in his throat as panic struck him.

Why was he here?

Didn't he promise himself he would leave this place behind for good?

Trembling, he leaned against the Vulcan for support, afraid his knees could give way from the overwhelming emotions.

"I'm…all right." He whispered hoarsely.

"I do not believe you."

"Okay, then, I'll _be _all right." He amended.

Spock remained silent as the passengers gathered their belongings, gracing them with their last impertinent glances before departing for their final destinations—leaving them standing alone on the platform. After several moments passed, the Vulcan rounded him, hands grasping Jim's face tenderly as dark eyes bored into his, shaded with an undecipherable emotion.

"I do not understand your reluctance to inform me of the reason for your affliction. It concerns me immensely but I've surmised—as you've previously stated—the 'time is not right', thus determining your continuance in eluding my queries on the matter. However," His voice softened, leaning down until their foreheads pressed together, "I desire to comfort you in the only method I am certain of." The pad of his thumb brushed Jim's cheekbone gingerly, "Do not be afraid, _T'hy'la_, I am here. I will not allow any harm to befall you."

Jim inhaled sharply, eyes dampening from the reassuring words.

_I'm safe…_

As though Spock had read his mind—which he was thoroughly convinced that he could—he leaned down, softly compressing his lips against Jim's. Their bond sprung to life and Jim was suddenly bombarded with overwhelming thoughts and sensations of comfort and safety—nearly feeling the protective instinct radiating from the Vulcan's form like a gentle hum. All previous fears seemed to dissipate as he melted into the kiss, wishing desperately that the moment would never cease.

"James!" A voice shrilled.

Startled, they hastily broke apart, whipping their heads to locate the origin of the voice. Jim paled as he spotted her underneath the caliginous lighting of the terminal—disheveled, her face distorted with disgust.

"So, it is true!" She spat vehemently before marching toward them, bridging the gap in a few long strides.

"Wha—?"

_SMACK!_

A sting rang out in his cheek as she struck him. His hand reached up reflexively, cupping the throbbing flesh as he stepped back, stunned. Sluggishly, he registered the pale hand that was now latched tightly onto the offending slender wrist—gripping it with such force, the fingers tinted a blue hue.

"Let me go!" She shrieked, attempting to yank her wrist free from the iron grip.

"Identify yourself and the reason behind your assault." He demanded, a low growl emitting from his chest.

"S-Spock!" Jim cried, finally finding his voice, "Let her go…please." Tentatively, he curled his hand around the Vulcan's wrist, feeling the tense muscles flexing beneath the flesh. He squeezed it gently—a silent plea. "She…" He sighed, "She's my mother."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I've been getting a lot of reviews stating "Why can't he just rent an apartment? Why go back to Iowa? Doesn't he have money?" Please allow me to clarify. Jim had barely begun the five year mission, he was previously a "play-boy" drunk. So, you can imagine, he wasted a ton of credits indulging his bad habits. Jim has been suspended from Starfleet and is not allowed to use their facilities (IE: their apartements) until he is recommissioned. (The military wouldn't let you live in their barracks while under suspension-same difference). Also, since their bond is new, they need to take care of a few things on_ New Vulcan_ (which will be explained later on) thus why they chose not to rent an apartment since they'll be leaving shortly anyway. And Jim is already feeling guilty enough for Spock relinquishing his position and didn't want him to pay for anything, since you know, Jim still has his stubborn pride. One more thing...the Admiralty are pretty peeved with Jim (remember, they technically got bitch slapped at the trial) and are pretty much attempting to make his life difficult at this point by initially "disowning him" for awhile (this was all going to be explained here shortly but I was getting a bit irritated with the same constant questions...a pet peeve of mine, it's not you, it's my problem and I completely take it with stride). And also, not to sound completely mean or anything but this is my fanfic, I will do what I want with it. You can do what you'd like with yours, but please do not beat me over the head since you're not getting answers immediately (there are reasons for the way it's written, most of it takes time to explain).  
**

**Now on a better note, I do _appreciate _all my readers and reviewers. Thank you for taking the time to read and review!  
**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: Copious amount of hurt/comfort in this chapter.**

* * *

**T'nash-veh**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Spock abruptly relinquished her wrist and she stumbled backward, struggling to regain her bearings. Bloodshot eyes were ablaze with primitive fury, an air of animosity circulating around her as she diverted her attention from the Vulcan back to Jim—analyzing his features with a haunted expression that elicited the muscles in his throat to tighten.

It was happening again—the distance in her eyes, seeing the ghost of the man he resembled.

James Kirk no longer existed.

Jim took a hesitant step toward her, hands hovering cautiously in midair in attempt to alleviate her anxiety. The gesture only aggravated her further as she suddenly lunged for him—expecting it this time, he grasped a hold of her wrists as she went to claw at his face. The close proximity allowed him to inhale the repugnant aroma of alcohol billowing from between her cracked lips.

"How dare you!" She shrieked, throwing her entire weight into him, causing him to struggle to detain her. "How _dare_ you _leave_ me!"

"_Winona_, it's me." His voice strained as he meekly pleaded, "It's _Jim_."

Too inebriated to comprehend, tears streaked down her flushed cheeks as she twisted her wrists in his grip, attempting to free them.

"You _never _loved me! Why didn't you come _back_?"

From the corner of his eye, he caught movement—a pale hand snaked around her neck, elegant fingers pressing into her flesh. Her steel colored eyes widened marginally before rolling in their sockets, body instantly stilling before collapsing against him. He scrambled to catch her, feeling incredibly disheartened as he clasped her frail, skeletal figure to him—hands rubbing against the bumps of her vertebrae.

Heavy silence draped over them—his mind reeling as he listened to the deep even breaths of the woman in his arms. A pang of something he thought he'd buried long ago swept over him, spiraling into a sense of forlorn—stirring the memories he'd long since suppressed. Throat constricting, his breath hitched as he fought against the flood of conflicting emotions.

"Jim."

The voice snapped him from his insensible state. Head whipping up, his eyes connected with the two black voids of the Vulcan's—regarding him with an intense gaze.

"Why…?" Jim inquired with a detached air.

"She appeared relentless. I did not desire to see you harmed." The Vulcan replied, a hint of something he couldn't quite decipher underlining the even tone.

Jim nodded mutely, shaken by the sudden occurrence. Trembling as the adrenaline ebbed; he bent down, sliding his arm under her knees before lifting her with ease—matted blond hair spilled over his elbow as her head lolled, the distinct aroma perforating his sinuses.

A tick worked in his jaw.

_Like mother, like son. _

Without glancing at Spock, he strode from the platform in the direction she had arrived, hardly aware of the footsteps trailing behind him. They trekked through the narrow, winding dirt path until they reached the dimly lit parking lot—b-lining it directly for the only air-car in the vicinity. As they approached, he re-adjusted her position to fish for the key in her pocket—unlocking the door before ungracefully laying her onto the backseat.

Silently, he slid into the driver's seat and jumped slightly in alarm as he sat onto something solid. Quickly lifting his hips, he retrieved the large glass bottle from beneath him—studying the small traces of clear liquid lingering at the bottom with contempt before chucking it out the door. Starting the car, he watched from his peripheral vision as Spock slid into the seat beside him, dark eyes fixating on him as he placed the setting to manual.

His palms sweat nervously under the Vulcan's heavy gaze, heart racing as he merged onto the desolate dirt road that conveniently led to the isolated hovel he once called "home".

The journey was made in a palpable silence with only the soft exhales of the unconscious woman lying limply on the seat—an arm dangling at an odd angle that swayed with the motion of the car. After the hour drive, they finally pulled to a stop in front of a rundown farmhouse—darkness blanketing the exterior, outlined by the billions of stars illuminating the sky. Jim's heart took a direct plummet to the vicinity of his core as nausea overcame him, hands clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles glowed white.

He detested the old structure.

Glimpsing briefly toward the Vulcan—who had not glanced away once during the entire ride—he hastily exited the vehicle, gathering his still unconscious mother from the backseat into his arms before reluctantly striding toward the house. Fighting with the old fashioned screen door, he jerked it open and marched inside, demanding the outdated lights to turn on. After a moment, they flickered on with a loud buzz and he turned toward the staircase beside the door, clambering up them unsteadily.

The room was in shambles as he entered, cautiously stepping over mounds of clothes, alcohol bottles, and other unidentifiable items as he maneuvered toward the bed. He thanked his lucky stars that Frank was currently missing as he deposited her onto the mattress, draping the frayed blanket over her prone form.

Brushing a piece of curly blond hair from her face, he turned on his heel to head back and halted as he spotted the Vulcan lurking in the doorway—eyes scanning the room curiously before resting heavily upon him.

Arms folding behind his back, he inclined his head as he stated firmly, "I presume the 'time-is-right', Jim."

"Yeah." Jim murmured, sighing heavily and taking one last glance at his mother before maneuvering back through the minefield of the room.

He brushed passed the Vulcan, trotting back down the stairs and out the screen door onto the patio, padding over to the rickety porch swing toward the far right corner and plopping down onto it with a flustered sigh. Spock leisurely strode toward him, dark eyes ablaze—halting inches from him, rigid.

"Have a seat, Spock." Jim said dolefully, patting the weathered wood beside him.

"I desire to stand." He replied a bit too quickly.

Jim frowned at him, surmising the Vulcan was struggling to shield against him, finding it quite difficult to interpret the emotion behind the aphotic eyes.

"I'm sorry." Jim said sheepishly, averting his gaze, "I didn't mean to get you involved." He released a cold, bitter laugh, "I had hoped maybe…she would have…you know…" The words died on his tongue as a hard lump lodged in his throat.

"She has demonstrated this behavior prior to this incident?"

Jim heaved another heavy sigh, "She hasn't always been drunk, but yes, she has. She…doesn't like to have me around." Jim stated dismally.

A small pause, "I do not understand."

He released a disheartened chuckle, "I look like my father." He berated himself silently for discussing the matter as his voice wavered.

Several silent moments passed, the chirping of the crickets echoing around them as the Vulcan absorbed the statement. Jim swayed in the swing in the uncomfortable silence, scanning the dark surroundings with keen interested.

Jim was almost convinced that the Vulcan had completely withdrawn when there was a shifting of cloth, the swing lurching as he descended onto it.

"_T'hy'la_…" He spoke gently, "I must apologize for my previous comparison, had I been aware—"

"Spock." Jim interjected, a sad smile expanding on his features as he turned his head to meet the Vulcan's gaze, "Don't apologize. Remember, I did say some nasty things about your affection toward your mother to entice you into a fight. We're both sorry, let's just leave it at that." He averted his eyes, staring intently at his hands resting upon his knees.

Another elongated silence filtered between them and Jim shifted uncomfortably.

Damn, he hated this.

It was almost as awkward as when Bones forced it out of him back at the academy. The only difference between then and now was a bottle of brandy.

"Was she attentive to your needs?"

The question stunned him for a moment, why did Spock care if his mother had taken care of him or not? It was not like he could change the past.

"I guess at the beginning, maybe. I don't really remember…she took a lot of deep space missions. I hardly saw her." Jim mumbled, picking at the bits of lint on his pants.

An audible breath was released beside him, "I see." The words came out icily, "Then may I inquire as to whom attended to you in her absence?"

He couldn't help it as he released a harsh laugh, "She left me with Frank, the man she married soon after my father passed. But I can assure you, he didn't bother 'attending' to me in the slightest." Jim shook his head, "I took care of myself."

"He was neglectful?"

"At times." Jim heaved a sigh, gritting his teeth as he reluctantly grounded out, "When he wasn't beating me."

There was a sharp intake of breath before the Vulcan swiftly bolted up from the swing, hands clenching into tight fists as he whirled around. His face remained its usual stoic expression, but the eyes were alive with fury.

"I advise we do not remain here and find more accommodating lodgings."

Jim sighed, scrubbing a hand against his face.

"We've already discussed this Spock. I depleted the majority of my credits before we shipped off for the five-year mission. I didn't need an apartment, so I got rid of it and spent it all on…well…you know…things I enjoyed at the time." He grinned sheepishly before sobering, "Starfleet has revoked my use of their facilities, so I can't get another one and I can't live in one with you without causing a riot with the Admiralty. We're already on thin ice with them." He pointed a stern finger toward the Vulcan, "And I'm not going to allow you to pay for a hotel, you're already on leave with no pay."

"I assure you that I have a substantial amount of—"

"No." Jim stated stubbornly. "I…just can't let you. I made all the choices I made and this is the price I'll pay. I can handle dealing with things before we set off for _New Vulcan_." He sighed, "I'm just thankful…you're alive."

The Vulcan deflated imperceptibly, fists flexing as he inhaled a few deep breaths to steady himself. Jim fixated on his hands again, allowing Spock the moment, understanding that his control was wavering.

Once the breathing evened, the Vulcan fluently knelt before him, a pale hand reaching out, resting gently against his cheek, eliciting the soothing buzz of their bond inside his skull. He met the dark depths of his eyes again, this time they were not coated with disdain, but with a burning possessiveness that stole the breath from his body.

"Spock?"

"_T'nash-veh T'hy'la_, I will endeavor to ensure your wellbeing in the duration of our stay. I will not allow harm to come to you again."

Jim issued a genuine smile, "You can't always protect me, Spock."

A determined glint flickered in the dark pupils.

"I do not concur with that statement."

The smile expanded, "I did warn you that being with me would be a wild ride."

The Vulcan didn't reply as he leaned up, crushing his lips against Jim's. He welcomed the kiss, the bond flaring to life, filtering all of Spock's rage and disgust toward his upbringing and the strong desire to protect him. It strangely consoled him to be aware of how much his Vulcan cared, and it fueled the fire, enticing him to deepen it clumsily, teeth grating against his. His tongue darted out, licking along Spock's bottom lip, and moaned as he permitted him passage.

For a quick moment, he realized he was airborne as he was lifted with ease before suddenly being pushed against the wall. It stole the breath from him momentarily, not deterring the Vulcan as his tongue darted into Jim's mouth, exploring it hungrily.

After several blissful moments, Spock pulled away, leaving Jim breathless and euphoric.

"You indeed 'warned' me." Spock stated evenly as he pulled away. "However, I was previously aware of the risks prior to our bonding." A small twitched occurred at the corner of his mouth, "You have continuously possessed the ability to—as it is phrased—'keep-me-on-my-toes'."

Jim pushed away from the wall, releasing a breathy laugh.

"Well, I was aware I did that to you before our bonding as well. It wouldn't have been as fun if I hadn't."

A glimmer flickered to life within the dark depths and Jim realized he was laughing.

"I did not find it as amusing."

Jim grinned, "Sure you didn't."

There was a silent moment where they regarded each other, relishing in each other's presence for the first time since they left San Francisco.

"_Ashayam_, I advise we retire for the evening."

"I'm all for going to bed…but not to sleep."

The Vulcan pinned him with a listless stare.

"I do not believe it wise to indulge in such activities within close proximity of your mother."

Jim pursed his lips, crossing his arms as he subtly pouted—amused as the Vulcan's eyebrow slightly raised a fraction of an inch.

"You're such a tease."

"Indeed?"

"Yeah." He retorted, "Staring at my pants and talking about how you don't mind having any part of me inside you, then initiate an incredible make-out session to only…what, nothing? That's just cruel."

Another glimmer fleeted through the dark eyes, clearly indicating he found Jim's frustration humorous.

Damn him.

"Vulcans are incapable of being 'cruel'."

Jim released a harsh, disbelieving laugh, "Well, I do not _concur _with _that _statement." He huffed, "Fine, let's go." He relented.

He followed the broad back of the Vulcan back inside, snatching the duffel bags from the hallway before re-climbing the stairs to the spare bedroom.

Stripping the black shirt, he clambered onto the mattress, muttering his frustrations as he kicked the blanket over him and turned onto his side. Spock appeared unaffected as he descended onto the opposite end, dipping the mattress as he sidled up to him, wrapping a strong arm around his midsection and pressing him flush against his chest. Warm breath caressed his exposed skin as the Vulcan planted a soft kiss against his neck, eliciting a chill to run along his spine.

"Are you actually going to be sleeping? I thought Vulcans don't require as much rest as Humans." Jim mumbled, already drifting off as he reveled in the Vulcan's body heat.

"That is correct and I will not be. I merely desire to offer you comfort until you have successfully attained a peaceful slumber."

Jim wasn't quite sure what possessed him as he inquired tentatively, "You won't ditch me in the middle of the night, will you?"

"I will remain by your side, _ashayam_." Spock murmured in the shell of his ear, "Rest now."

His hand sought out the Vulcan's, entwining their fingers as he succumbed to exhaustion.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I completely kick poor Jim in the feels—hard core, but this story won't remain sad for long. And this sequel will be longer by far. So I hope you will all stick around for it! Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes as I spent ALL night writing this and wanted to post it. I'll come back later today and fix all the mistakes. Thanks for reading and please review!**


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N: So, the beginning of this chapter is going to be a bit confusing (there is a reason!), and it may not make complete sense just yet (I can't stress this enough). However, I hope you find it intriguing and will want to find out what's going on—it **_**will**_** be explained later down the road. Also for those who are curious, I do not do mpreg. I don't mind reading it, but I just don't write it.**

* * *

**T'nash-veh**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

She stood rigid, arms folded behind her, hands clasped at the small of her back as she lurked behind the small crowd steadily filing into the transport shuttle—a group of young, vibrant Starfleet cadets heading home from their periodic stay on _New Vulcan_. They conversed quite emphatically—the females' high pitched squeals grating against her sensitive ears. Her father had informed her of the vast cultural difference, and although their vernacular was hardly relevant to xeno-anthropology—per their required assignment—she could not deny the fact that she found their conversation intriguing.

It was fascinating how they expressed such sentiments toward certain individuals of the opposite gender—unhindered by logic.

And yet it was peculiar—a behavior she was quite unaccustomed to.

Observing as the last exuberant female boarded, she briefly scanned the terminal before clambering into the craft—the Terran pilot analyzed her carefully as she approached.

"You look a bit young to be traveling alone, why are you going to Earth?" The baritone voice discerned.

Inclining her head, she produced her transport ticket, extending it out to him expectantly.

"My personal matters are of no consequence to you and my age is irrelevant. I have presented you proof of clearance for this transport—will you proceed with the standard procedure?" She retorted evenly, staring unflinchingly into the man's hazel eyes—dark hues tinting the loose skin beneath them.

Averting his gaze, he fixated on a distant focal point, eyebrows furrowing imperceptibly as he pondered warily. She studied the reaction, analyzing the internal thoughts flickering to life within his eyes—how Humans were capable of expressing emotion so flagrantly astounded her immensely. After a fleeting moment of silence, he conceded—tugging the device with her transport information from her outstretched hand roughly, squinting as he hastily read the information before his eyes widened marginally with surprise.

"I had no idea." He breathed, "Forgive me for inconveniencing you." Sputtering, he gestured with his hand for her to locate her designated seat, "Welcome aboard."

She nodded curtly, pivoting before striding leisurely to her seat. The group seemed to finally take notice to her presence, scrutinizing her curiously as she passed them before indulging in hushed confabulations. Their efforts; however, proved to be inconsequential as she possessed keen hearing—perceiving each word unbeknownst to them.

Descending onto the vacant seat, her hand slipped into the internal pocket of her robes, producing a glossy, slightly torn photograph. Although she possessed an eidetic memory, she found an illogical compelling need to analyze it repetitively.

The blond man was grinning, crystal blue eyes sparkling brightly despite the stillness of the photo—an arm slung nonchalantly around the dark figure beside him. Her side strangely constricted as her eyes ghosted over the stoic face, eyes softened with a promise of a smile—never once witnessing such an expression from the man herself.

If it had not been for the solid evidence of the photograph, she would have remained ignorant to such a possibility.

It was time to find him.

The hours aboard the shuttle were spent in quiet contemplation over the possible scenarios she may encounter upon meeting the man she had spent numerous days researching. He appeared to be quite arrogant in the holovids she accessed from Starfleet's archives—confident and poised through each interview while airing a miniscule amount of insecurity with his demeanor.

He was incredibly fascinating.

Engrossed in her thoughts, she was nearly surprised—illogical—as they approached Earth. Having journeyed there countless times before, she was shocked as she found herself transfixed by the blue hues of the atmosphere, the colors striking her in a way she had never experienced previously. It was calming, welcoming.

For the first time, this planet did not feel foreign.

The cadets were roused by the sight, striking up conversations vociferously, expelling their excitement through physical gestures—bouncing in their seats and whipping their bodies around to address those seated behind them. Although she would not freely reveal her own eagerness, she could relate to that overwhelming desire to squirm with anticipation. And that desire increased as they entered the atmosphere; relishing the mixture of colors that were absent upon her own planet.

The shuttle approached the familiar San Francisco terminal by the bay, the light already dimming as the sun commenced its descent in the sky. The compartment rattled as the shuttle landed, releasing a blaring hiss, causing the cadets to bolt up from their seats with excitement and lung toward the shuttle's doors. Patiently waiting until they had vacated the craft, she ascended from her seat, striding out onto the platform and grateful to find the crowds populating it to be sparse—allowing her to easily maneuver through them toward the main entrance.

The sleek, ebony colored air-car was parked beside the curb outside—the chauffeur stood rigidly before reaching for the handle of the backseat, permitting her to enter. Issuing the address of the desired residence, she threaded her fingers together as the air-car propelled forward, observing the towering buildings as they fleeted by the window. After several minutes, the grand structures were soon replaced with deteriorating, neglected buildings—disconcerted as the car halted outside a rundown apartment building that appeared to have five separate floors.

"Should I wait here, miss?" The driver inquired as he placed the vehicle into park.

"That will not be necessary. I will request your services again once my business has concluded." He nodded in acknowledgement before clambering out, scurrying around the vehicle to open the door for her. She was not particularly fond of this formality; however, she accepted that it was another Terran custom and permitted it. "Thank you." She replied as she glided toward the entrance.

As she entered the building, she observed the deep cracks snaking their way along the walls, the overhead lights flickering periodically as she ascended the concrete staircase. Something akin to disappointment washed over her at the sight of the hovel this man inhabited—certainly not a place she had expected. Halting at the correct door, she marveled at its appearance as it seemed to be made from wood—nicks littered its surface, the paint peeled in random places. Her hand hovered hesitantly for only a moment before ringing the chime, her side constricting—a most illogical occurrence.

"I already told you, Gary, I don't have your credits! You said you'd give me until Monday before kicking me out!" A muffled voice called from behind the wooden structure. Her eyebrow arched curiously, acknowledging the possibility that he may not answer due to the assumption she was this "Gary" individual—she repeated the process. "Goddamn it!"

Rustling and loud thumps emanated from behind the door before it was abruptly yanked open, revealing the blond man she recognized from the photograph—disheveled, stubble coating his once smooth chin, eyes droopy and bloodshot.

"I told you—!" He abruptly silenced at the sight of her, the startling blue hues of his eyes widening marginally with shock, mouth hanging slightly agape.

After a few silent moments passed, she inclined her head, inquiring, "You are James Kirk?"

The blue orbs scanned her features briefly before shaking his head, "Why are…? How did…? When?" He bumbled before centering his thoughts, clearing his throat as he straightened his spine, firmly stating, "Can I help you?"

"Yes." She replied evenly, "I request a private audience with you, is this an opportune time?"

"Uh…" He trailed off, glancing uncertainly behind her, searching for something. "I guess." He sighed, a hand scrubbing his face before stepping aside, "Come in."

She nodded curtly before traipsing inside, suppressing the urge to wrinkle her nose as she inhaled a repugnant odor. The apartment was in shambles, clothes were strewn haphazardly, lying in mounds and draped unconcernedly over the coffee table and furniture. Empty bottles were scattered around the cramped space and the curtains were drawn over the only window to the room—casting it into darkness.

The blond man hustled to the seating area, clearing a space as he demanded for the lights to turn on. A bright light flooded the area, allowing her to analyze the mess with more clarity, the perturbing sense of disappointment flooding over her again.

"Have a seat." He mumbled, gesturing to the spot on the sofa before shoving off the bottles from the chair next to it, plopping down onto it with a forlorn demeanor. She tentatively glided toward it, descending fluently onto the cushion. Averting his gaze, he sighed, "So, what do you want?"

A strange pang struck her from his cynical tone, "I desire the truth."

His head whipped up, a stunned expression plastered upon his features, "Hasn't he told you? Wait…does he even know that you're here?"

She released an audible breath, "He does not, and he has successfully diverted my queries on the matter whenever the subject is raised." Fishing in the interior pocket of her robes once more, she produced the photograph, extending it out to him—observing as he tentatively accepted it with a trembling hand, studying it with keen interest—crestfallen.

The man glanced up after several minutes—eyes coated with an undecipherable emotion as he scrutinized her with a heavy stare before abruptly recovering from his reverie, "Shit." He stated emphatically, "I need a drink."

Standing, he bustled toward the kitchen, leaving her to stare after him—disconcerted and a bit…discouraged.

* * *

Jim jerked awake as a loud bang reverberated through the house, bolting up from the bed as he heard muffled, angry shouts filtering through the bedroom door. Taking a quick scan of the room, he realized the Vulcan was missing.

"Shit!" He cursed emphatically, throwing the blankets from his form.

_I forgot to tell him Frank's xenophobic!_

The morning sun was streaming through the cracks in the curtains, reflecting off his skin as he scurried across the room—ignoring the fact he was half naked as he yanked the door open, the muffled shouts now reaching him with clarity.

"Calm down, honey."

"You only told me the _brat_ was only going to be here, not this pointy-eared _freak_!"

A crash pierced the air as he hopped the steps two at a time, landing onto the wooden flooring below before bolting down the hallway toward the kitchen. He rounded the corner to find Spock standing at parade rest near the back sliding door, regarding the ranting and flailing man with a dark stare. Jim was certain that if looks could kill, Frank would have died ten times over by now.

Winona had pushed herself against the counter, blond hair tousled, pale from the immense hangover Jim knew she had as she rubbed her temples feverishly. Jim quickly deduced the crash had been from Frank pushing the plates of food from the small island that divided the kitchen from the living room, analyzing the fragments and pieces of food scattered over the linoleum flooring.

Anger boiled inside him but he choked it down, taking a deep steadying breath.

"Hey, _Frank_, mind cleaning this up?" Jim spat vehemently, finally catching the attention of the flushed, seething man.

He wore his usual grey jumpsuit that was coated in oil which indicated he had been out in the barn working on one of his many classic vehicles the entire night. His hands were still stained black as they clenched, advancing on Jim who stood his ground. He would not run; he had done enough of that in his childhood.

"_You _brought the green-blooded bastard!"

"Yeah, what of it?" Jim straightened as the man bridged the gap between them. Watching from his peripherals as Spock jerked forward. His shields slipping as rage became evident on his features once Frank's hand lashed out and grasped Jim's bicep, yanking him toward him—their faces mere inches away from another.

"You think since you're a _Captain _now that you're _hot shit_?" He sneered before smiling wickedly, hand clamping down with a bruising force, "Well, you're _not_. Heard you got banned from Starfleet for _fucking _the pointy freak over there. I always _knew_ you were a—"

"Frank!" Winona hissed, stalking over to them. "_Stop_ this!" Her voice wavered, keeping herself at a safe distance, not attempting to fully intervene.

_Just like old times._ Jim thought bitterly, jerking in alarm as he suddenly noted a dark figure looming uncomfortably close beside them—dark eyes piercing the older man, eyebrows set in stern lines.

"You will release him." He demanded darkly, lip curled slightly in a snarl.

Frank returned the glare and Jim could have laughed at how incredibly moronic he was being. Obviously he wasn't aware of Vulcan's strength—Jim certainly knew.

"You can't _command_ me, I'll do what I _damn_ well please—this is _my _house."

"_You think you can get away with it while your mother's off planet? Well guess what, this is _my_ house and that is _my_ car!"_

The memory flooded from his subconscious at Frank's words, filling him with the ghost of emotions he'd felt as he nearly took his own life. Apparently, the Vulcan was receiving these emotions as his eyes narrowed, the snarl becoming more prominent.

"Calm down, Spock." Jim murmured, knowing his efforts would be in vain. He didn't possess the capability to send calming thoughts as well as the Vulcan did.

The dark eyes fleeted toward him briefly before returning with an intensified flame toward Frank. Jim swallowed thickly, Spock had been willing to allow Jim to handle his mother, but it appeared he wouldn't grant him the same courtesy with his stepfather.

"Release him." He growled—a final warning.

"Frank…" Winona pleaded meekly.

Frank abruptly relinquished Jim's arm while simultaneously shoving him back, stumbling slightly from the force before a pale hand gripped his other arm, steadying him. The other hand grasped the injured arm gently, analyzing the multicolored bruise beginning to form on his skin—a growl emanating from his throat.

"Easy, Spock, I'm all right." Jim stated, grasping the Vulcan's arms and easing them away from him.

Frank watched the interaction, anger and disgust plastered upon his face before turning toward Winona, pointing a stern finger, "We'll talk about this later." He spat before stalking toward the sliding door, jerking it open, allowing it to bang against the frame before storming off.

"I will return momentarily." Spock stated expeditiously as he brushed passed Jim at a quickened pace, clambering up the stairs toward their bedroom.

Jim heaved a heavy sigh as he returned his attention back to his mother, her eyes glossing over with unshed tears. Shaking his head exasperatedly, he bent down, gathering the broken shards and bits of food silently.

This was going to be a long couple of weeks.

* * *

**A/N: Ooh, Spock is not happy. Not at all. Inevitable beating in the future? Maybe (Winks). Thank you for reading and please review!**


	5. Chapter Five

**T'nash-veh**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

* * *

Jim heaved a heavy sigh, knocking tentatively on the door.

"Spock?" He said gently, gripping the handle—hesitating briefly before swinging it inward.

The Vulcan sat erect on the floor near the window, broad back facing him—meditating. Jim froze, uncertain whether to leave or remain.

"You may enter, Jim." He flinched at the Vulcan's astringent tone.

"Uh…I didn't, you know, disturb you or anything—right?" Jim inquired meekly, striding into the room and closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

He released an audible breath, "I cannot deny that you have; however, my focus was inadequate prior to your arrival." He stated, untangling his legs from the meditative pose—fluently ascending and tugging the hem of his standard Starfleet shirt, smoothing the crinkles.

Jim leaned heavily against the door, the wood cool against the exposed skin of his back, "Sorry, I forgot you did this sort of thing." Averting his gaze, he tucked his hands inside the pockets of his pants, hunching his shoulders slightly. "My mind isn't exactly _focused_ either."

Soft footfalls echoed in the enclosed space as the Vulcan padded across the room, halting just a few inches shy of him—relishing the comfortable heat radiating from his body.

"_T'hy'la_…" The word left his lips softly like a prayer.

Jim glanced toward the stoic face—dark eyes scrutinizing him with such intensity, it sent a shiver down his spine.

"What is it?"

"I do not understand your compliance to this contemptible behavior, and disregarding my attempts to aid you." He stated evenly.

Jim issued a non-committal shrug, "It's nothing new, I've handled this before."

"Jim." He said firmly, taking another small step to bridge the gap between them, "Your nonchalant façade has not misled me to believe you are handling this situation well."

He swallowed thickly, averting his gaze, "Reading my thoughts again?"

"There is no logical reason to, our bond provides me the insight I require."

Releasing a disbelieving huff, he muttered, "Of course, I should've guessed."

"I am uncertain what you require of me."

A pang of guilt struck him from the comment, roughly translating it to—_I feel like you don't need me._

"Spock…" He trailed off, inhaling a shaky breath, "I'm sorry, I'm not used to, well, having anyone…" Pivoting slightly, he regarded the Vulcan for a brief moment. Reaching out, he snaked his arms around his torso, burying his face in the crook of his neck—feeling Spock stiffen momentarily before imperceptibly relaxing. "Just…hold me, okay?"

Strong arms wrapped around his frame, pressing him flush against the toned muscles of his body—reveling in the embrace.

"Is this sufficient, _ashayam_?" Spock murmured in the shell of his ear.

"Yeah." Jim replied morosely, allowing himself for one fleeting moment to be vulnerable—shedding silent tears while in the arms of his Vulcan.

* * *

The man stumbled back from the kitchen, a bottle grasped in his hand as he plopped back onto the chair limply, tipping it into his mouth and taking a large swig of the fiery liquid. Eyebrows furrowing slightly, his face distorted with disgust as he swallowed, rubbing away the droplet that dripped steadily down his chin with the backside of his hand. The distinguishable odor of alcohol burned in her sinuses, mingling with the foul scent of the room.

"Alright." He sighed, "What do you want to know?"

Inclining her head, she replied, "I am not pure Vulcan?"

Taking another agonizing swig, he nodded curtly, "Yeah, you're not." Pausing, he regarded her with an inquisitive stare, "Why hasn't he told you that? Hold on," He raised his hand as she unhinged her jaw to reply, "I…I have to ask first…how is he?"

Nonplussed by the unexpected query, she stated, "His health is adequate."

"Does he…?" He trailed off, fidgeting with the bottle nervously, "I mean, has he ever…mentioned me?" The blue orbs scrutinized her heavily—recognizing the nearly desperate tone to his voice.

Another peculiar question.

"He has indeed mentioned your accomplishments and honorable sacrifices whilst he served aboard the _Enterprise_."

"Oh." The man deflated, gulping down another mouthful of liquid before averting his gaze, "But nothing else?" He inquired dimly.

"No." She ticked her head to the side, eyebrow arching curiously, "Were you expecting nostalgia?"

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped his lips, scrubbing a hand through the greasy strands of his sandy blond hair, "I don't know. I thought it might've been a possibility."

"It is impossible for him." Whipping his head around, his eyebrows furrowed quizzically. "He cannot feel."

Waving his hand dismissively in the air, he replied irritably, "Yeah, yeah, I know because he's a Vulcan."

"Yes; however, he has also successfully purged all remaining emotion."

The man stilled, eyes widened marginally in shock, mouth hung slightly agape, "No…he hasn't, he didn't do that."

James Kirk was indeed a perplexing individual. Clearly he understood the reference and was aware that Vulcans cannot lie, yet he attempted to refute the fact simply due to his own disbelief.

_Fascinating._

"It is indeed the truth—he has completed the _Kolinahr_." She stated levelly and observed the flesh of his face pale.

Chugging the remainder of the liquid inside the bottle, he tossed it with remarkable force across the room—the loud clinks reverberating through the enclosed space. Placing his face in his hands, an aggravated growl leaked from the crevice of his lips before a sob escaped him.

"No wonder." He hiccupped softly, "No wonder it felt so…dead."

"Mr. Kirk?"

Albeit apprehensive, he glanced up from his hands—eyes red rimed, a glossy sheen coating the brilliant blue which strangely emphasized the different hues—captivating her. A single tear escaped, streaking down the flushed skin of his cheek at a leisurely pace as he shakily ascended from the chair.

"Please…would you…can I hug you?" Voice cracking slightly as he pleaded, he settled down onto his knees before her, arms extended uncertainly in midair.

She did not understand this sudden illogical desire for physical contact and was astounded that he requested such a display of affection from her. Yet, she had never experienced this Terran gesture and could use this for scientific purposes. Nodding slowly, she slid from the sofa and suppressed crying out in alarm as he hastily grabbed her, yanking her toward him and clutching her against him in an iron grip.

Burying his face in her shoulder, his hand pressed against the back of her head, fingers lacing in the strands of her hair, "I'm sorry for leaving you."

She was uncertain of his meaning—to whom he was referring as it did not appear to be solely her.

"I do not understand."

"I still…I love him." He murmured, hiccupping again—clutching the fabric of her robes in a tight fist. "I'm so sorry, I'm a fuck up—it's my fault!"

Baffled, she placed a hand at his shoulder blade, the muscles in his backside tensing briefly before relaxing at her touch.

"Mr. Kirk…" She trailed off, perplexed by the situation.

He began whispering at an incredible rate. Leaning her head closer for clarity, she quickly caught the last bit of his ramblings, "I didn't want to leave. I'm…so sorry, Serenity."

She inhaled sharply, there were only a select few who knew her true name, "You are the one who…?" He leaned back from her, tear tracks reflecting the light of the room as he regarded her with a solemn expression.

"Yes." His voice wavered, "You're also my daughter."

* * *

"Jim, are you certain this is wise?"

"Yeah, Winona won't be using it—she'll be in bed the rest of the day." Jim issued a reassuring grin before sliding into the front seat of the air-car. "Besides, I'm starving—aren't you?"

"I am agreeable to consuming nourishment." Spock replied evenly, swiftly sliding into the passenger seat beside him. "However, I do not agree with taking the vehicle without the owner's consent."

Jim shrugged, starting the engine and placing the setting to manual. It sure as hell wouldn't be the first time he's taken a car without permission. After a week of being trapped around the dysfunctional wreck that was his family, he was practically desperate to get away—even if it was merely a short trip into the main part of town for lunch.

A heavy silence filtered in the cramped space of the vehicle with nothing but the whir of the engine as they traveled along the unleveled road—taking an enormous amount of his willpower not to shift uncomfortably in his seat with each unbearable minute.

"I have contacted my father." Spock addressed nearly an hour into the ride, causing him to jerk slightly in alarm.

Furrowing his eyebrows—bemused, he inquired with a curious tone, "Really? When did you do that?"

"The previous evening while you slept." He replied evenly, "I accessed the _comm. _unit located in the private room downstairs."

"What?" Jim said incredulously, "That unit has a certain code to…wait," He released a mirthful chuckle, "You sly dog! I didn't think you had it in you to hack the system."

"I did not 'hack the system'. I merely observed the code as your mother accessed it three days prior."

Shaking his head, he grinned wryly, "Whatever you say."

"As I have stated," The Vulcan continued, disregarding Jim's amusement, "I have been in contact with my father and have informed him of our impending arrival."

"And?" Jim pressed, feeling a twinge of nervousness through the bond.

Spock released an audible breath, "The council is displeased and has only granted you temporary lodgings for a hearing to determine whether you may remain residing on _New Vulcan _until your suspension has concluded."

Affronted, he scoffed, "Why the hell can't I stay? We're bond-mates—right? Why would they refuse to take me in? Aren't I, you know, technically '_family_' now or something?"

"We have bonded, yes; however, my clan has certain…_concerns _they desire to pontificate prior to an approval."

"_Approval_? Approval of what—our bond? _Me_?" Anger flared over him, clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles glowed white under the strain. "Who the hell are _they_ to decide anything?" He growled, absentmindedly bearing down onto the accelerator—the air-car jarring as it propelled forward.

"_T'hy'la_…" A pale hand morphed into view, settling gently over his. "Be calm."

Jim was far beyond calm, feeling as though the entire universe was out to get him between Starfleet, his own family, and now the Vulcans. He couldn't catch a damn break.

"What happens if they don't _approve_?" Jim sneered, heat leaking into his face as his anger boiled in his veins.

A beat, "I do not know."

He didn't like the sound of that.

"Well, that's just _fantastic_!"

"Jim."

They barreled through the entrance of the city and he suddenly yanked the steering wheel, hearing the metal groan as it whipped into a parking space outside of quaint antique shop—lurching as it came to an abrupt halt. His heart pounded against his chest as he shut of the engine, fixated on a distant object ahead, attempting to gain control over his ragged breathing. A few women Jim recognized traipsed passed, glancing curiously at the car as though they knew to whom it belonged to—acknowledging they probably did as Winona was vastly well-known due to her late husband.

And even more so now with her infamous son.

Tugging his hand roughly away from Spock's, he clambered out of the vehicle—slamming the door shut before marching off toward the small store, not giving any thought or care to the reason he chose to. Seething, he barged into the shop, instantly overwhelmed with the cluttered shelves filled with knick-knacks and other collectable items. Taking a deep steadying breath, he cautiously began to maneuver through the narrow isles, glimpsing over the amazing variety of items with keen interest.

He always possessed a strange obsession over antiques—knowing at one point they could've belonged to those individuals who survived through the most trying times of Earth's history.

A particular item caught his attention, placed on the top row, nearly hidden by a brass statue of a cowboy riding his horse. Rising onto the tips of his toes, he extended his arm, fingers barely brushing its sleek surface—only budging a fraction of an inch. Maneuvering closer to the shelf, he attempted to reach it again, only to unintentionally push it further back.

"_Dammit_." He cursed emphatically—hopping consistently, rattling the shelves, determined.

The familiar pale hand caused him to cease as it reached over him, grasping the item with ease and offering it to him. Snatching it, he pinned the Vulcan with a stern glare.

"I would've been able to reach it eventually, you know." He stated breathlessly, expelling an air of contentiousness.

"Indeed; however, as we are on a time constraint, I deemed it necessary to assist you." The dark eyes ghosted over him briefly, "My apologies for upsetting you, I had no previous knowledge—"

Waving his hand dismissively, he relented, "Nah, just forget it. I guess we'll just deal with that bridge when we cross it—right?"

Spock ticked to his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing imperceptibly, "Indeed."

Issuing a tiny reassuring smile, he returned his attention back to the object—analyzing it with a degree of fascination. He had heard of these, and to find one was nearly impossible as they had seemed to vanish around the late twentieth century.

"May I inquire about the object you are currently holding?" Spock said gently, taking a small step, chest brushing lightly against Jim's arm as he peered over his shoulder with an eyebrow arched.

Jim chuckled softly, "It's a Polaroid camera—you take a picture and it prints it out immediately. I know we have something similar nowadays, but I don't know, I think the old version has better qualities." Fiddling with it, he was thoroughly pleased at its nearly flawless condition. "I'm a sucker for antiques."

"I see." Plucking the camera from his hands, the Vulcan pivoted on his heel, b-lining it toward the register.

"Whoa, Spock, wait!" Jim cried as he hastily followed him, protesting as he watched Spock hand the camera over to the shop owner, "What are you doing? I told you, I don't want you paying for anything."

Remaining silent, he proceeded to hand over his credits—nodding curtly as the woman thanked him for his purchase before handing over the small package containing the camera.

Jim scowled as Spock turned away, striding out of the shop without a second glance.

"Hey!" He called, stumbling after him—shivering as he stepped out into the chilly spring air, a gust of wind hitting him with a remarkable force as he pursued him down the sidewalk—ignoring the curious stares of the townsfolk as he passed them.

Spock walked with haste, veering right into a restaurant without breaking stride. Jim followed him inside, panting slightly as he spotted him already seated at a booth beside the window. How the hell he was able to maneuver so quickly and always appear perfect astounded him. He could hear Bones now.

"_I think it's those damn pointed ears that give them their super powers, Jim."_

Shaking his head, he padded over to him, plopping down onto the seat—irritated.

"What the _hell_ was that?" He demanded, regarding the dark eyes who scrutinized him heavily.

"I do not understand your meaning."

Pinning him with an incredulous stare, he replied, "You _know_ what I mean, Spock."

"I merely desired to obtain an adequate seat for our meal."

Jim narrowed his eyes suspiciously, "Right, because _Nancy's Diner_ is a high quality, five-star restaurant." Placing his elbows onto the table, he knitted his fingers together, leaning toward the Vulcan, "What's going on, Spock? First—you hardly protest about me taking my mother's car, next—you buy an expensive camera without so much as uttering one word, and lastly—you take off like a bat out of hell, making me chase you halfway down the block!"

The ever predictable eyebrow arched, jaw unhinging as he went to reply.

"Welcome to Nancy's, my name is Caroline and I'll be your waitress today. May I take your drink orders?" The waitress quickly interjected, her southern accent was thicker than Bones' and Jim glanced up to regard her. Caroline's figure appeared quite delicate, fingernails manicured to perfection—blond hair swept up as loose ringlets falling down to her shoulders, allowing her pale green eyes to stand out against her natural tanned skin.

She was pretty—the type of girl he'd normally attempt to seduce and bring back to his place. And by the flush steadily darkening on her face, he realized that he was probably the type of guy she would have trouble turning down.

"Uh…yeah." Jim cleared his throat, "By the way, this'll be two separate checks."

"Please disregard that, it will only be one check." Spock interjected expeditiously, continuing the order before Jim could protest, "We will have water and iced tea."

"Okay." She said softly, scribbling the order onto a small device, glancing at Jim one last time before scurrying off.

Jim scowled, "I can pay for my own meal!"

"Indeed?" Spock said incredulously, "How many credits do you have remaining at your disposal, Jim?"

He folded his arms over his chest, agitated, "Well, uh…I have enough to cover one meal at _least_."

"I will be paying for our meals." Spock declared firmly.

Huffing, he replied, "Dammit, what is _with _you today? You're acting, well, I don't even know! Are you going to tell me what's going on or what?"

Spock stared with those penetrating, aphotic eyes for several agonizing moments before nodding curtly, producing the package and placing it gently onto the table.

"I understand you are reluctant in allowing me to purchase anything for you and I am usually willing to comply with your demands with the exception of today."

Jim furrowed his eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

A small twitched occurred at the corner of his mouth, "I understand this Terran celebration is a normal custom, and although I do not comprehend the logic behind it, I am compelled to ensure that it is properly executed."

Jim's eyebrow hiked in confusion, "Huh?"

A flicker appeared within the dark depths of his eyes as he slid the box toward him.

"I believe the correct phrase is…Happy Birthday, Jim."

Stunned, he accepted the box, opening it to re-admire the prize inside.

"I was uncertain of what to purchase and apologize for depriving you of the surprise factor." Spock continued, analyzing his reaction carefully. After a few silent moments, he inquired tentatively, "_T'hy'la_, are you all right?"

Jim chocked back the sob, tears welling up in his eyes, rubbing at them feverishly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I…just never…" He trailed off, inhaling a shaky breath, "I've never had a birthday present before." Laughing a bit hysterically, he continued, "Well, besides booze from Bones, but I get that from him even when it's not my birthday."

The Vulcan's eyes widened marginally, an expression close to surprise plastered on his face.

"Here are your drinks!" The waitress called cheerfully as she returned, placing the glasses onto the table.

"Thanks." Jim smiled and her flush returned. "Oh, hey, could you do us a favor?"

Glancing around nervously, she said tentatively, "Sure, what do you need?"

"Could you take a photo of us?" He inquired, extending the camera toward her expectantly.

Issuing a polite smile, she tensely took it from him, "Of course."

"Great!" Sliding from his seat at the booth, he rounded her and swiftly descended onto the padded seat beside Spock, wrapping an arm casually around his shoulders.

As she positioned the camera, he quickly stated, "Smile, Spock, it's my birthday!"

There was a quick flash followed by a loud whine as it processed the image, a glossy paper sliding from the slot at the base. Handing the camera and photo to him, he thanked her before anxiously glancing at the large brown square, their faces steadily forming onto the paper.

"Fascinating." Spock stated, observing the progress over his shoulder.

Jim beamed as the photo developed, seeing the softened expression on Spock's face.

"I'll return when you are ready to order." The waitress stated warily, scurrying away.

After a few silent moments of admiring the photo, Jim turned toward the Vulcan and extended two fingers toward him, eliciting his eyebrows to hike a fraction of an inch with shock.

"I know this is how Vulcans kiss." He said softly, "I figured it out."

Another flicker occurred in the dark eyes as they bore into his, mirroring the action, Spock pressed his fingers against his, eliciting a strong tingle to shoot up his arm in a pleasurable manner.

"Thank you, Spock." He whispered, grinning.

Another twitch occurred at the side of his mouth, "You are welcome, Jim."

* * *

**A/N: Jim/Spock time was much needed after a few very serious chapters. Hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading and please review!**


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: Now, I know most of you have been confused (and that was what I was aiming at), but this chapter will explain it. Hope it helps, enjoy!**

* * *

**T'nash-veh**

* * *

**Chapter six**

* * *

Nonplussed, her eyebrows furrowed imperceptibly, "How?"

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he groaned, "He should have told you." Muttering as he clumsily clambered back onto the chair, "_Dammit_, Spock."

Her eyebrow arched curiously, "Would you elucidate the matter?" Shifting her arms behind her, she clasped her hands at the small of her back, regarding him earnestly.

Perched on the chair in a defeated slump, he stared ahead with a vacant expression—eyes shadowed and haunted as he reminisced.

"I suppose I owe you the truth even though you're still so young." He stated dolefully, "I should inform you that Spock and I are…well, I'm not sure if we still _are_ bond-mates…" He trailed off, a forlorn expression washing over his features. "I…haven't felt our bond in years."

This strangely surprised her—there were no records stating this fact in any of _New Vulcan_'s archives. Her grandfather had only mentioned _his _bond to a Human female but remained reserved on the matter when it regarded her own father—if not reproachful whenever she addressed the subject. It was also interesting as she recalled Starfleet's regulation against two commanding officers engaging in intimate relations.

"I do not understand and I do not find the logic behind his decision when he selected—"

"You sound just like _them_!" The man barked, blue eyes ablaze with fury, taking her aback slightly before he relented, "I'm sorry…I didn't mean to yell at you." Huffing, he continued tentatively, "He claimed I was his t-hi—dammit, I can't pronounce it." The words came out slurred as he attempted to speak them.

She inhaled sharply as she comprehended his meaning, "You share a _T'hy'la _bond?"

"Yep, that'd be the word. You'd think I'd be able to say it by now but—" He released a short, cynical snort, "It's been awhile since I've heard it."

Baffled and flustered, she replied with a miniscule amount of acrimony, "I do not understand the reason why this rarity was not documented, and withheld from my knowledge."

He retorted flatly, "Wish I had an answer to give you for that."

Releasing an audible breath, she inquired, "If your claims are merited, how is it possible I was conceived with the absence of a female?"

He issued her a tiny smile, "There are other ways that don't involve impregnating someone." Heaving a heavy sigh, he continued, "The council wasn't exactly fond that Spock had chosen a Human male as his mate since we were unable to help repopulate the Vulcan race. But," He glanced at her, "we found out about an attempt that had been made a long time ago to create a child by using the DNA of a Vulcan and a Human in a lab which was successful…until the unfortunate demise of the child."

Ticking her head to the side, she regarded him with an inquisitive stare, "I have not recovered this information in the archives."

"That's probably because the documents were lost when _Vulcan _was destroyed." He stated, "The only other successful child created between the two species was of course Spock with the help of the science academy."

She nodded curtly—this she knew.

"Are you indicating you sought out the aid of the academy to create my person?"

"Yes." He issued a wry grin, "It was the only _logical _option we had. And…as you are standing here today, it was obviously a success. Apparently, with Spock having several stands of Human DNA, the merging was quite compatible which is why you have a strange mix of our features." Sobering, he continued with earnest, "I…well, _we _were so happy when you were created..." Eyes glossing over once more, "I was the one who gave you your name even if your grandfather hadn't quite agreed with it—after all, his own son took on a Vulcan name even with a Human mother."

"I see."

She now understood why Sarek had decided to give her an alias—he did not approve of this man.

Approaching him, she extended her hand, desiring to see the events that had transpired that had caused the downfall of this man, "May I join our minds?"

The man flinched, a harrowing expression on his face, "I don't think you should see this. It isn't right."

Something akin to irritation swept over her as she softly pleaded, "Please…father."

His breath hitched—the muscles in his throat contracting as he swallowed, "Alright." He stated in a small voice.

Placing the pads of her fingers against the clammy flesh of his face, she struggled to find the psi points—their locations were peculiar, differing vastly from her father's. Once connected, she hesitated, analyzing the tightening skin around the man's eyes, his protruding surface thoughts conveying his unease, shame.

"My mind to your mind." She murmured.

_My thoughts to your thoughts. _

She was suddenly overwhelmed with a sudden rush of memories and emotion—perturbed by the images and hardships this man faced. His heartbreak and loneliness slammed into her, reeling from its intensity. The separation had caused him to spiral into severe depression, abandoning Starfleet, and forced to engage in intimate activities with his current landlord and old classmate "Gary" in order to be permitted to live in this domicile. He lived an empty life, drinking his woes, drowning in sorrow for eight agonizing years.

A shell of his former self.

Disconnecting the meld, she inhaled a shaky breath, stumbling a few steps backward—struggling to regain her equilibrium, his memories still lingering in her mind.

Glancing up as a sob reverberated through the living area, something akin to heart ache overcame her at the sight. The meld undid him, reducing him to tears—broken. Impulsively, she bridged the gap between him, wrapping her arms around his trembling frame—he crumpled against her, defeated.

This man who once held his head high, the youngest Captain in Starfleet history, hero to earth now was reduced to this.

No…she would not allow him to continue this existence. She would rectify this.

An anonymous elder Vulcan had left behind a specific device capable of time travel at the science academy before his passing, recalling the details as her father once discussed its existence with the president of the Federation of Planets and the Admirals of Starfleet. She would retrieve the device and return to the significant points of their lives, the turning points that had weaved a thread toward this outcome—she would alter their future.

It was reckless and illogical; however, she would not be deterred.

She was also, after all, Human.

* * *

Jim was euphoric as they headed back to the farmhouse, briefly forgetting the negativity of the situation as he reached over to the passenger side of the car, snatching the pale hand from the Vulcan's lap—entwining their fingers. The grin on his face expanded as a dark eyebrow arched curiously toward him.

"You are pleased, _ashayam_."

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He glanced toward the aphotic eyes, his smile never wavering, "It's been awhile since I've felt this content."

"Indeed?"

Sobering momentarily, his heart quickened as a random thought fleeted through his mind—being as the Vulcan was already acting compliant, he couldn't stop himself from wondering if he'd be willing to perform another Terran celebration. After all, it was something he had thought about even if he'd been utterly terrified of the idea for years. But would Spock want to? Would he reject him and find it illogical?

"Speak your mind, _T'hy'la_, I am curious to the inquiry you fear I would find objectionable."

Releasing a disbelieving snort, he replied, "Would you _stop_ doing that? It's not exactly fair when you can access all my thoughts and emotions at will and I can't."

"You do not believe you possess the capability?"

"I know I don't."

A small twitch occurred at the corner of his mouth, "I was under the assumption that James Kirk does not surrender to a challenge."

Scowling, Jim scoffed, "I don't!" Growling with frustration, he continued, "How do I do this? I barely remember how to speak to you—how do I _feel _what you're feeling? And don't say you don't feel because we both know _that's_ bullshit."

A flicker occurred in the dark depths of his eyes, "It is similar to speaking. You must concentrate—an ability I realize you are not quite adept with."

"_Hey_!" Jim protested, "I'm not _that _bad." The Vulcan pinned him with what he could only decipher as the, "who-are-you-trying-to-fool" look. "What?"

"Your methods are highly unorthodox—random and reckless. Although I can admit the end results are usually sufficient, I cannot agree that your mind is one of stability."

Jim snorted with vexation, "Gee, thanks I guess."

"_T'hy'la_, I am not attempting to insult you."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly a compliment either." Jim retorted, tugging his hand gently away from the Vulcan's, "You're pretty skilled at doing that."

"My apologies."

A silent pause filtered between them for a fleeting moment.

"What did you wish to inquire?" Dark eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch expectantly.

Jim sighed, already regretting it, he replied, "I…was just wondering how you would feel if we had an actual wedding. You know, since we're 'married' already by your standards." He was astonished as the Vulcan glanced away, head ticked slightly as he mulled over the suggestion. "Of course, it'd be completely off-record since Starfleet has regulations against it. Being bonded they can't say shit about, but marriage they can."

"May I inquire the reason you desire this?"

_Well, that wasn't a "no"._

He issued a non-committal shrug, "I guess it's something I've always wanted—and if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it and claim it was really _you_ who suggested it. I'll even add that you begged on your knees."

"I see." Another twitch occurred at the corner of his lips, "I will take your ambition into consideration."

Smiling, he stated, "That's all I can really ask of you."

They pulled in front of the farmhouse, consternation befalling him. The sight of the hovel quickly dispelled the pleasant mood he had obtained during their outing, reluctantly shutting down the engine.

Before he could move an inch toward the door, a pale hand suddenly appeared, cupping the flesh of his cheek and gently turned him toward him—heated lips compressing gingerly against his. The kiss was chaste, gentle, nowhere near as heated as the previous one the Vulcan had initiated nearly a week prior. The bond burned at the back of his skull, comfort flooding over him from the tenderness of it. Almost whimpering as the Vulcan pulled away much sooner than he'd wanted.

"_I cherish thee, T'hy'la." _The words echoed inside his skull.

Still feeling the glow of the bond, Jim concentrated to the best of his abilities.

_I love you too._

A glint appeared within the dark eyes, adoration floating through the flaring connection. Apparently, he was steadily gaining rein over this whole telepathic communication concept.

Exiting the vehicle, Jim was suddenly overcome with a looming sense of doom, approaching the house with trepidation. An invisible knot coiled within his core, heart pounding steadily against his chest—something didn't feel right, a gut feeling screaming for him to turn and flee.

_That's strange._

Jerking the screen door open, he stepped through the threshold—about to call out for Winona when something solid suddenly collided with the side of his face. Seeing stars, he felt large hands ball into the fabric of his shirt, shoving him hard against the wall, stealing the breath from him.

"What makes you think you have any right coming back into _my _house then _steal_ another car?" Frank barked an inch from his face, sluggishly registering the revulsive copper flavor spilling into his mouth, a sharp pain spiking through the right side of his face.

Another blow to his face sent him sprawling to the ground, a foot connecting with his chest a moment later, ripping a cry of pain from his lips. There was thundering of another set of feet, followed by the sounds of a scuffle—Frank's grunts echoing in the narrow hallway. Rolling onto his stomach, he hastily rose to all-fours, fishing in the pocket of his trouser for the phaser as he stumbled onto his feet. Silently grateful he had remembered to take it with him.

Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he took off after them down the hallway, bolting around the corner into the living area just in time to see the Vulcan plant a fist into the flesh of the man's cheek. Frank stumbled backward against the stone fireplace, stunned momentarily, eyes blinking rapidly before slumping to the floor onto his knees. Spock pivoted, turning his back toward the man as he moved to leave. Frank released a wheezing cough before abruptly digging into the large pocket of his jumpsuit, producing an old fashioned pistol—which Jim quickly recognized as his father's—and aiming it directly at the Vulcan's head.

Jim hastily aimed his phaser and fired without hesitation, the shot hitting Frank just as the gun went off, the bullet embedding between the shoulder blades of the Vulcan. He stilled, eyes widened marginally as he collapsed to the ground with a loud thud.

"Spock!" Heart leaping into his throat, he stumbled toward him, falling to his knees beside him, carefully analyzing the wound—his fingers coming away coated with dark green blood. "Shit!"

The sound of footsteps reverberated through the house as Winona flew around the corner, eyes red-rimmed and puffy as though she had been crying, hair unkempt, robe open to expose the nightgown beneath.

"What's going on?" Halting abruptly, she absorbed the scene with panic-stricken eyes, "What happened?"

"I need you to drive us to the hospital!" Jim cried, slinging the Vulcan's arm around his shoulders and heaving him up onto his feet with a grunt, struggling to support the weight from his denser bone structure. "He shot him with George's pistol which has exploding hollow-point rounds!"

"I…I…" She trailed off, glancing warily between them and Frank who lay unconscious on the floor.

"Please!" Jim pleaded, voice straining as he began to half drag the semi-conscious Vulcan across the room.

"Al-alright." She stammered, turning on her heel and hustling toward the main door.

Spock's breathing was labored—soft pained sounds escaped him as Jim steadily maneuvered him down the hallway and out the front door. Winona watched with horror as they approached the vehicle, quickly swinging the door open to allow Jim to place Spock inside before sliding in afterward. She slammed the door, scurrying around the car to the driver's seat.

Jim gently turned him onto his stomach, placing his head in his lap as he applied pressure to the gushing wound—the shirt nearly soaked with blood. Tears stung at his eyes, his free hand absentmindedly stroking through the dark strands of his hair. The nearest medical facility was an hour away—forty minutes at best if they floored it.

A trembling hand suddenly morphed into his view, clutching a small wash rag.

"You're bleeding too." She stated with a wavering voice.

"Thanks." He replied softly, accepting the rag and wiping the blood from his face.

The car shuttered as the engine roared to life, the last traces of daylight fading away as the sun began to set. He swallowed thickly, observing the stern line of Spock's brow as he inhaled shaky breaths.

"Hold on, Spock." He whispered, "Don't you dare leave me."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N: For those who are still confused (although…I'm not really quite sure how…), yes this is darting between the future with their daughter and the present…hope that helped clear up the rest of the confusion. **

**Also, I have drawn my own fanart for this story (because, well…I wanted to) which you can find here (replace the DOT with an actual "."): **

**theyumenoinuDOTdeviantartDOTcom/art/Kirk-Spock-Fam ily-Photo-Colored-412532847**

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**T'nash-veh**

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**Chapter Seven**

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She descended upon the swivel chair at the _comm. _unit by the bed. Several exhausting weeks of consoling the stricken James had left her drained—aiding him by accessing her father's credit reserves and placing him in a hotel for an extended stay even despite his protests after being viciously evicted from his domicile. Unable to achieve meditation due to the man's emotional state, she noted how her controls wavered as she sent the transmission to _New Vulcan_—suppressing the sudden compelling need to seek out those responsible for withholding such critical information. It was not a logical action as it could hinder her completion of the mission at hand.

Remaining silent was vital for the wellbeing of both parents.

Deep even breaths pierced the room, emitting from the prone form sprawled on the bed—the blankets cascading over the foot onto the floor, an arm dangling at an absurd angle. It was the first time the man rested fitfully, undisturbed by haunting memories and hours of shivering from his abrupt alcohol deprivation.

The transmission connected, the familiar stoic face of the receptionist flickered into view, _"New Vulcan Science Academy."_ She relayed the location.

"I require a private conference with Lady T'Les."

A dark eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch on the stoic female's face as she inquired, _"Is this a personal matter?"_

"It is a matter of importance." She replied vaguely.

"_I see. Are you calling on behalf of Ambassador Spock?"_

"Possibly."

The eyebrow arched higher.

"_I will inform her immediately."_ She replied, the screen blackening as the transmission abruptly cut.

Folding her hands neatly on her lap, she fixated on a particular point on the wall behind the unit—allowing her mind to wander and replay the current events. She was certain T'Les would permit the unexpected call as she was one of the elders remaining of their clan, being as it had reduced in size due to the unfortunate destruction of their home world. However, she was uncertain of her perspective on the particular device and the possibility of utilizing it for an inconsequential cause.

There was a soft beep a few short moments later, jarring her from her reverie as two words blinked rapidly on the screen: _Incoming Transmission._

Accepting the transmission, an elderly Vulcan female appeared on the screen—regarding her with a grim stare, her fingers threaded together.

"_Dif-tor heh smusma_, Lady T'Les." She greeted, forming her hand in the traditional _ta'al_.

"_Sochya eh dif_." She replied evenly, mirroring the gesture, _"What is the reason behind this unanticipated conference?"_

Inhaling a deep breath, she replied, "I possess a proposition."

A small flicker of interest flared inside the dark pupils, _"Indeed? And what does this proposal pertain to?"_

"The device with the capability of time travel."

An expression akin to surprise fleeted across the elder's face, _"Oh? May I inquire your intentions?" _

Swallowing thickly, she stated, "To alter a specific error in time."

"_I surmised that fact, young one, would you elaborate?"_

Taken aback slightly, she continued, "I desire to rectify the rift between my donors."

T'Les' eyes widened marginally, eyebrows raising a fraction of an inch, _"You are aware of the identity of the second donor?"_

"Indeed. I am also aware of the process in which I was formed."

Silence filtered between them as the elder scrutinized her heavily with keen interest.

"_Albeit your intentions are noble—I cannot permit it."_ T'Les declared firmly after the elongated interval of silence, _"Tampering with such a delicate commodity may inadvertently cause significant damage."_

Averting her gaze momentarily, she expeditiously countered, "According to the records, the presence of the Romulan, Nero has already caused significant damage." Glancing back, she continued, "Would it not be justifiable to remedy the rare bond between two species especially with the fact there are so few bonds remaining? Would it also not be neglectful to not utilize this invention seeing as James Kirk is a figure of high importance—aiding our race in our greatest time of need, and surrendering his life to conquer a force with unfathomable intentions for the universe?"

"_You speak of Khan." _

"Indeed." Threading her own fingers together, she pressed on, "And did he not also risk his life and career to save a member of our race during his "time"—allowing the blame to be fully placed upon his person?"

For the second time, the dark eyes widened marginally, _"Indeed. You make a compelling argument."_ Releasing an audible breath, she continued, _"You believe that this deed would be a form of…repayment?"_

"That is correct. It would also simultaneously be an experiment to examine the ramifications of time travel—whether positive or negative results would ensue."

"_I see."_ Eyebrow arching curiously, she inquired, _"Have you informed Ambassador Spock of your intentions?"_

"I have not."

"_You have not approached the council with this matter."_ She accused.

"No, I had desired this to remain private."

The elder nodded her head slowly, regarding her with a curious stare, _"I must expound the risks as you are still of adolescence."_

This comment caught her attention—incredulous, she inquired, "You are approving my proposal?"

"_Indeed I am. Your experience will prove most beneficial to the academy as we possess very limited knowledge of the subject."_ A beat, _"And we are quite indebted to Mr. Kirk—even if certain individuals do not express a similar opinion."_ A small twitch occurred at the corner of her mouth, _"I will be your permanent mentor on this matter—you will report to me at your earliest convenience. I will have the device promptly delivered to you, what is your current location?"_

Baffled by her sudden acquiescing response, she stated, "I will send you the location of the hotel in which I reside to your computer terminal momentarily—I must meditate in preparation for my journey."

The elder nodded curtly, _"Very well. I will in return send you the risks and regulations you must heed and abide by."_

"Understood. Thank you, Lady T'Les."

Something undecipherable flickered within the dark depths of her eyes, _"May your excursion be a prosperous one, Serenity."_

* * *

Spock had been rushed into surgery—leaving Jim pacing feverishly in the waiting area alone with Winona who sat rigidly in a chair, fidgeting anxiously with her robe. The Vulcan had lost consciousness nearly halfway to town—the backseat of the air-car was stained with his blood, along with Jim's entire left hand, the liquid steadily crusted on his skin as it dried.

Jim was seething, unable to assuage his fury, intensifying with each agonizing moment that passed. The hours felt like days, nearly losing his mind as his jumbled thoughts hindered his coherency. He was almost certain that his mother tried to calm him, possibly even beg him to sit, but her feeble attempts were all in vain.

He was beyond being absolved of the immense guilt he had over Spock's current condition.

Spock was, after all, the one gravely injured from protecting him from his own stepfather.

"_Dammit_!" Punching his fist against the wall, he cringed as the bones of his knuckles creaked from the force, breaking the skin. He analyzed the thin trails of blood gliding down the backside of his hand, releasing a growl of frustration. "What's taking them so _goddamn_ long?" He shouted at no one in particular.

"James!" The shrill voice reverberated through the waiting area, causing him to abruptly halt—turning, he regarded her indignantly.

"What?" He spat vehemently.

Pulling a stern face, she placed her hands on her hips as she stood there, intoning, "I've been _trying _to tell you that a Doctor McCoy is on the guest _comm. _for you."

Slightly taken aback, he replied, "Wha—why? How'd he know we were here?"

"He's yours and Spock's main physician—they obviously contacted him for crucial information. Now, get over there and speak to him." She huffed, pointing a finger toward the wall lined with _comm. _units.

Expelling a disgruntled sound, he hastily brushed passed her, locating the designated unit and plopping down onto the chair.

Smashing a fist onto the transmission pad, he inquired bitterly, "Yeah, what is it?"

"_Well, nice to see you too!"_ Bones groused, _"And let me tell you what a pleasure it is to see your young, bright, smiling face as well!"_

"Bite me." Jim riposted, glowering at the doctor.

Folding his arms over his chest, the man regarded him with a concerned stare, _"So, I take it you're not handling this well." _

"What was your first clue, Sherlock?" Jim spat, flexing his injured hand and wincing from the sharp pain.

"_Dammit, Jim, calm down. The green-blooded elf's going to make it—I just finished speaking with the surgeon." _

His breath hitched at his reassuring words, "Really?"

"_Yes, really, now quit throwing a temper tantrum like a damn two-year-old."_ He chided, gritting his teeth. _"I swear, you really can't survive without me. I'm gone for one damn week and all hell breaks loose. Do I seriously need to come and babysit you both?"_

Leave it to Bones to be his remedy during hardships.

Jim released a short, harsh laugh, "Sure, but only if you buy me ice cream and let me call you: Bones-y Wones-y."

The hazel eyes narrowed as he sneered, _"You obviously have a death wish, kid."_

Releasing another harsh laugh, he pressed, eyebrows hiking expectantly, "So, have anything you'd like to say to me today?"

"_Oh, I have plenty of things I'd like to say to you."_ The man retorted with an indignant snort, _"But I'd rather not have my daughter overhear."_

"_Bones_!" Jim whined, his anger abruptly abating, "I can't believe you forgot!"

"_Good God, man, want some cheese with that wine?"_ He replied, rolling his eyes exasperatedly, _"And I haven't forgotten—I've been comm.-ing your mother's house nearly all day but somebody wasn't home!"_

Jim grinned, "Really…so, what did you get me?"

"_A bottle of Brandy."_ He responded listlessly, _"Happy Birthday, you damn brat."_

Grin expanding, he replied with a mock offended tone, "How could you _call_ me that? I thought we were _friends_!"

"_Keep it up and we won't be."_ He riposted with a sneer, _"Sometimes I wonder why I choose to be around you."_

"Because you can't fight my irresistible charm."

The man released an exasperated snort, _"Right, that's the reason."_ Sobering, he regarded him with an earnest expression, _"But seriously, you all right, Jim?"_

Heaving a heavy sigh, he ran a hand through his sweat-laden hair, "Maybe."

"_Maybe? What exactly happened?"_

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his hands into fists, digging the blunt nails into the flesh of his palm, "Frank."

A string of curses flooded over the speaker in response followed quickly by a high-pitched:

"_Daddy!"_

"_Sorry, darlin'."_

"_You said bad words!"_

"_I did, and I'm sorry."_

"_You can't have dessert tonight! That's the rule!"_

"_I know it is—you're right."_

Jim couldn't fight the sudden burst of laughter that escaped his lips, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes as he desperately gulped down air.

"Damn, Bones, glad there's somebody who can put you in your place!"

"_Shut your trap—at least she's got more common sense than you." _

"Maybe, but she's not as adorable as I am!" Jim beamed. "Don't you just want to snuggle me all night long?"

Rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, he stated emphatically, _"I think I'm going to throw up."_

Jim responded with another fit of laughter.

"James Kirk?" A woman inquired behind him, causing him to whip his head around to regard her, "You may see him now." She stated with a tight smile.

"Alright." He acknowledged before returning back to the screen, "Bones—"

"_Go on, kid. But you're going to tell me about this later, you hear?" _He chided, pointing a stern finger.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved a hand dismissively, cutting the transmission.

He ascended from the chair clumsily, staggering slightly over to the nurse who waited impatiently, gripping the PADD in her hands with vexation, tapping her stylus on the screen diligently.

Glancing up as he sidled up to her, she stated, "Ready?"

"Yeah." Jim breathed, trailing behind her as she guided him through the medical facility. It was nearly disorienting being on the opposite end of it, the concerned visitor not the patient. Nurses and doctors scrutinized him heavily as he shuffled through the unnecessarily bright hallways, whispering amongst themselves and barely catching their statements about the possibility he was the infamous young captain from Starfleet.

"In here. We're not sure if he's completely coherent or not—we think he's gone into a healing trance." She stated evenly, sweeping a hand toward the room.

He wasn't quite sure what that meant but he nodded in response.

"Thanks." He muttered under his breath, striding through the doorway and abruptly halting at the sight.

The once green tinged flesh was now almost a stark white, emphasizing his dark features, and nearly blending in with the sheets. His face was slack, body still—the only movement being the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. The monitors were adjusted to read his alien vitals, relief flooding him when he saw they were mostly within the green zone—normal.

Approaching the pallet, he glanced down at the prone form, his heart immediately taking a direct plunge to his core.

_This is probably how he feels whenever I'm the one lying here._

Damn…now he really hated himself.

"Spock…?" He said in a small voice, shifting his weight between feet absentmindedly. "Can you hear me? It's Jim."

The dark eyelashes twitched slightly—discouraged as they remained shut.

A hard lump lodged in his throat, glancing over his shoulder to reassure himself they were alone before reaching out and grasping the pale hand—reveling in the weight of it, the warmth radiating from the flesh.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault." Threading his fingers through the elongated ones, his voice strained, "I don't know how the hell I always manage to fuck things up so bad. It's like I'm cursed and whoever comes around me leaves, gets injured, or dies." Gritting his teeth, he grounded out, "It should have been me who was shot. If I hadn't allowed you to come with me, this wouldn't have happened…"

"He would not have permitted you to travel alone regardless of your opinion." A soft voice suddenly stated from behind him, causing him to jerk with alarm.

Relinquishing the Vulcan's hand, he whipped around to find the familiar young girl he had seen previously at the terminal back in San Francisco—lurking in the doorway, atypical eyes piercing him deep.

"It's…_you_." He whispered, bewildered. "How—what are—?"

"Do not return to the domicile." She intoned, bridging the gap between with a few long strides, digging into the pocket of her faded overalls and producing a sleek keycard. "Seven-zero-one Main Street." She stated expeditiously, placing the key onto the pallet beside Spock's legs before pivoting on her heel, striding briskly from the room.

"Wha—hey, wait!" He cried, bolting after her into the hallway, startled to find she had seemingly vanished again.

After jogging down a select few hallways, he finally sauntered back to Spock's designated room with a defeated air. A bit unnerved by the sudden occurrence, he returned to the pallet, clutching the Vulcan's hand in his and snatching the keycard with his other hand, examining it between his fingers with keen interest. Who was she? How did she know where to find him? What were her intentions by giving him certain items?

_What the hell is going on?_

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**A/N: Thanks for reading and please review!**


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! And sorry to say my updates may slow down a bit due to taking on daycare for a high-maintenance baby girl (who I love dearly) for five days a week (plus taking care of my son and finding time for my SO). I promise I won't go months (just a few weeks at most in-between updates). Thank you so much for all your patience!**

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**T'nash-veh**

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**Chapter Eight**

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"James."

A hand gently touched his shoulder, causing him to stir from the light slumber he had eventually succumbed to.

"Mmm?" He responded languidly, lifting his head from the pallet, a stabbing pain shooting through his neck and shoulders from being awkwardly hunched over the biobed while perched in the chair beside it. He blinked up at her with bleary vision, "Wha's th' matter?" Then like flicking on a switch, his conscious flooded with recollection of the previous events—bolting upright with alarm, "Spock?"

"Still asleep." Winona said softly, his panic receding, "Can you come with me for a moment? I won't keep you from him for long."

Glancing at the prone form on the pallet, Jim released an elongated breath, "Yeah."

She issued a tight smile before pivoting on her heel, leisurely striding from the room. Heaving a heavy sigh, he ascended from the chair—reaching out a hand and smoothing the Vulcan's unkempt hair, "I'll be right back." He murmured.

There was no response.

Scrubbing a hand through his own sweat-laden hair—sweltering due to the higher temperature of the room—he turned from the pallet and sauntered out into the hallway where his mother stood patiently waiting for him.

"Are you hungry?" She asked a bit jittery, fidgeting nervously with the belt of her robe. "We could see what they have in the mess hall?"

"Uh, yeah…I guess I could eat." He replied stiffly.

Nodding curtly, she guided him through the maze of hallways until they reached the visitor's mess—a quaint cafeteria with a few adequate meal choices, but nothing too fancy, it was Riverside after all.

"What would you like? It's my treat." She offered sheepishly.

"You don't have to do this." He retorted dryly.

A flicker of uncertainty passed through the steel pools of her eyes before they hardened, "_James Tiberius_, tell me _what_ you _want_." She demanded.

Taken aback by her querulous tone, he conceded, "Fine, get me whatever—nothing with nuts or berries unless you want to render me catatonic."

Her features softened—the corner of her mouth twitching as she suppressed a smile, "Go find us a table."

Muttering under his breath, he maneuvered over toward a table pushed up against the windows, the lights of the town reflecting off the glass. He silently pondered if Frank had regained consciousness—the dark part of him secretly hoping he never would. His fists clenched with rage as he replayed the memory repeatedly inside his mind, the urge to seek revenge rising from his core.

"Here, I got you a salad." Winona stated, ripping him from his silent musing by unexpectedly appearing beside him and setting the plate before him.

He pulled a face, "Salad, _really_?"

She huffed with agitation as she descended upon the opposite chair, "_You _said to get you anything, and this is healthy."

Grunting, he stabbed his fork into the greenery with disdain, "Between Bones, Spock, and _you_, I don't think I'm ever going to see another cheeseburger _again_."

Winona pinned him with a dull stare, "Well, it serves you right for giving me the freedom to choose."

He snorted indignantly in response.

A palpable silence filtered in the space between them momentarily before she cleared her throat and addressed him, "I'm sorry this happened to your…friend."

He released a cynical laugh, "Don't pretend you don't know about us."

"I was attempting to be subtle." She retorted levelly.

"Well, you failed."

She heaved a heavy sigh, "It just…took me by surprise. I thought it was just a bunch of nonsense when the media was covering the trial. I thought the alleged relationship was some big scam to condemn you."

Jim issued a non-committal shrug, "Well, the initial purpose was to condemn me, I suppose. But the 'nonsense' held some truth to it. Thought my goose was cooked for sure for a while." Taking a bite, he grimaced at the bland flavor, "Still got suspended though. Found out from Cogley later that they only had the power to do that to me without losing the support of the Vulcan council. So they did and summed it up to me being 'emotionally compromised'—an endangerment to the mission. That's why it's only for a year—to 'get my head on straight' so to speak. I have to pass a bunch of psych evaluations, and re-take the damn _Kobayashi Maru_ to get re-commissioned, which is a complete pain in my ass." He groused.

"Hmm." She regarded him curiously for a moment, "Was he really worth all this?"

Jerking with alarm, he choked as the mouthful of food lodged in his throat—coughing to clear his airways before sputtering, "D-did you seriously just ask me that?"

"Yes." She replied callously, "Was he?"

Nonplussed, he stared at her with incredulity before giving her a fervent rejoinder, "Of course he was! He's my First Officer! And…" He trailed off, suddenly painstakingly aware of his surroundings and that fact he was all but shouting.

"The one you love." She supplied dryly.

He relented, physically deflating as he averted his gaze, "Yeah."

Another interval of intangible silence draped over them before an audible breath pierced the air, "Do you know what you're getting into, James? Do you know what it _means_ to be with a Vulcan?"

"Yes." He stated expeditiously, "Why? Are you about to try to convince me otherwise?" He spat.

Winona threaded her fingers together, scrutinizing him heavily, "I just want you to be well-informed of the sacrifices you're about to make."

"I really don't care to know, it'll all be worth it anyway." He retorted vehemently.

"Don't be crass, James." She chided, "You're about to lose everything that defines who you are as an individual—besides your accomplishments with Starfleet of course."

He snorted derisively, "And _you_ would know?"

"Yes, I would." Leaning against the backrest of her chair, she clarified, "I knew Amanda Grayson—Spock's mother."

This wasn't surprising; most Starfleet personnel of her generation were acquainted with the Ambassador's wife.

"And?"

"_And_," She reiterated, vexation underlining her tone, "She gave up so much of herself to be with Ambassador Sarek. Adopting the laws of Surak, forced to leave her home on Earth to live on Vulcan, not allowed to express the slightest bit of emotion in public. It was heartbreaking to watch."

Jim's fists clenched, "Spock wouldn't force me to do any of that."

"Really?" She said dubiously, "I understand he's half-human, but he identifies himself as a Vulcan. He'll demand it of you eventually."

"Stop." Jim intoned darkly, "You have no idea what you're talking about. You don't know him."

"I'm just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help!" He barked, "I never have and I never will! You are the _last _person who should be giving me any kind of relationship advice—living with that _asshole_!"

"James!" She hissed, "Don't speak about him that way! He was just upset that you took the car without our permission."

"Don't defend him!" Jim bolted up from the chair, slamming his hands onto the table with remarkable force, causing her to jump in alarm, "He aimed for Spock's head! If I hadn't stunned him at that precise moment, Spock would probably be dead! I don't even know _why_ you're still with him!"

Her features suddenly tinted a dark shade of red, eyebrows furrowing, "_How dare you_." She whispered emphatically. The steel pools of her eyes imperceptibly unfocused—steadily receding into the dark recesses of her conscious, altering her perception of his identity. "You were the one who left me, I only had _him._"

For the second time since he arrived in Riverside, James Kirk did not exist.

And this time, he wasn't about to subject himself to her wrath.

"Nice chatting with you." He said blandly, turning from the table and marching back through the mess hall. He didn't glance back as a loud scrape of the chair reverberated in the quaint space, or when she commanded him to stop.

Calling him by the name of a man long since dead.

His sense of direction wasn't always keen—and having his mind ensnared by rage sure didn't help—he still managed to direct himself back to Spock's room after having only encountered a few dead ends. Jerking with alarm, he was startled as he nearly collided with the doctor who unexpectedly charged out of the room.

"How is he?" Jim blurted before he could collect himself.

"Your friend has recovered—we've just released him." The man stated levelly, peering over his spectacles at him, "You're Captain Kirk, correct?"

Taken aback slightly, he replied coolly, "Yes."

The doctor graced him with a tight smile, "I thought so, just wanted to clarify. If it wouldn't be much trouble, could I acquire your autograph for my daughter? She's a big fan—has a bit of a crush on you." He winked.

Jim released a shaky breath, the tension abating and chuckled softly—this was bound to happen eventually, "Yeah, sure—no problem."

After exchanging his signature and a hastened handshake, the doctor permitted him to duck back into the room. He came to an abrupt halt as he found Spock standing—semblance impeccable—smoothing the creases from one of the hospital's spare civilian shirts with a terse tug at the hem. The aphotic eyes glanced up upon his entrance, the green undertone to his skin returning, face stoic.

"Jim." He nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

He swallowed thickly, "Hey." He whispered, "How are you feeling?"

"I have recovered adequately."

"Good…good." Jim murmured, eyes downcast, staring intently at his feet.

Soft footfalls echoed as Spock padded across the room, a pale hand drifting into view as the pads of fingers gingerly cupped his chin, gently guiding his head up until their eyes reconnected.

"_Are you all right, T'hy'la?"_ The voice hummed inside his skull.

Jim shook his head, averting his gaze, "Can we just get out of here?"

The fingers slid from his chin, silently indicating the Vulcan's agreement to proceed, "You have acquired suitable lodgings." He intoned lowly, it wasn't a question.

"I'm not sure." He replied honestly, offering a casual shrug as he turned for the door. "Just…" He sighed, "Finish with your discharge forms and meet me out front, alright?"

* * *

Opting for a taxi, Jim sat slumped in the backseat, head compressed against the cool glass of the window—staring vacantly. Absentmindedly, he fidgeted with the keycard in his pocket as he gazed at the sky that steadily brightened, the sun commencing its usual ascent. The light forced the familiar stars to flee, leaving him feeling hollow. He'd almost give anything to be up in _the black_, exploring worlds never before encountered, meeting a variety of fascinating species—not firmly grounded on Earth.

They pulled up in front of a shabby little inn at 701 Main Street. Although worse for wear, it was famous for its hospitality. One of the few remaining lodgings in Riverside that weren't quite particular on the species of their guests.

"That'll be thirty credits." The gruff voice of the driver stated.

Before Spock could attempt to offer his own credits, Jim hastily extended the last of his to the man who accepted it eagerly.

"Jim." Spock intoned, clearly contentious on the matter.

He shook his head vigorously, "Just think of it as recompense."

Although his eyebrow furrowed quizzically, he did not press him for an explanation which he was grateful for.

They filed out of the car, their belongings promised—grudgingly—to be delivered at a later time in the day by Winona. She didn't appear too heartbroken over the concept of their departure—hopping into her air-car and speeding off toward home without so much as a goodbye.

"Jim, I will pay for—"

"No need, Spock. Apparently, it's already paid for." The dark eyebrow arched as expected and Jim offered another non-committal shrug, "I'll tell you later, after I get some shut eye."

"Very well…" Spock agreed reluctantly.

The teen girl at the main desk glanced upon their entrance, moving to stand and assist them but Jim waved her off politely, fishing the keycard from his pocket, flashing it to her as he sauntered passed. She nodded curtly, gracing them with a warm, genuine smile—her eyes fixating on Spock with a pensive gaze.

Jim chuckled softly at her flagrant infatuation, eliciting the dark eyebrow to rise curiously toward him again. They meandered down the narrow hallway until they reached the final room—sliding the card into the slot, the light on the door shifting to green with a simultaneous loud _click_. The room was cozy, only a single queen bed—which was interesting to say the least—and the typical décor of any given inn, with the exception of the personal replicator beside the _comm. _unit.

He flopped onto the mattress, sprawled out with an arm slung over his eyes—groaning. It certainly had been one hell of a week.

The bed dipped unexpectedly, creaking as the Vulcan crawled over him as a heated hand gently pried the arm from his face, meeting the cool dark depths of his eyes.

"I thought…" Jim finally said at length, "I was going to lose you."

Aphotic eyes analyzed his face briefly before dipping down, catching Jim's lips in a tender kiss and briefly breaking away, warm breath caressing his flesh as he murmured against his mouth, "You will not lose me, _T'hy'la_."

Before Jim could respond, the heated lips recaptured his—heady, possessive. He moaned as their lips slated together, a rough tongue licking a hot, wet trail along his bottom lip and he quickly permitted it passage, releasing another simultaneous moan as it plunged inside. Jim's hands moved of their own volition, sliding down the material of his shirt, locating the hem and gliding his fingers up the broad muscular backside—

—and jerking away from the kiss as his fingertips traced the edge of the bandaging. Spock's eyes widened marginally at his abrupt disconnection, a pale hand reaching and cupping the flesh of his cheek. The Vulcan bent down again, placing feather-light kiss along his jawline, hot breath billowing from parted lips as he whispered, voice husky into the shell of his ear:

"_Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service._"

Jim released an incredulous snort, "Did you just quote Shakespeare?"

"Indeed." The rough tongue licked the curve of his ear and he shuddered in response, "_The prize of all too precious you. _You are not at fault, _ashayam_. Allow me to ease your distress."

Jim perked up slightly at the implication, "And _what_ exactly did you have in mind?"

The Vulcan responded to his inquiry with a trail of kisses, and nips leading down the long line of his flesh, tongue caressing the erogenous zones of his neck.

That was all the answer he needed.

* * *

**A/N: Next chapter, steamy adult content. Needed a full chapter of these two finally escaping the hell hole (at least we think). Thank you for reading and please review!**


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: STOP! Before reading this chapter, if you have not read the prequel "Don't Forget Me", I suggest you go read it now! (Since this chapter relates to that). Just a fair warning! **

**Guh! I get uplifted and then discouraged so quickly with this story, sometimes I feel it's not turning out well (don't get me wrong, I'll never give it up!). Sigh, anyway, with that little moment of insecurity, I present you with the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it! For those who haven't stopped following this and are holding on until the end, I'd like you to know, I appreciate it! It's a bit slow, but it'll pick up here real soon! (***= mature content, placed before and after). **

* * *

**T'nash-veh**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

In the midst of the exploration of heated hands roaming along his now exposed torso, Jim had successfully changed positions, pinning the Vulcan to the bed as he straddled him. Of course, he was quite aware of the superior strength and acknowledged that if Spock desired it, he'd have him at his mercy before he'd be given a chance to blink. In fact, he found it exceedingly odd that the Vulcan had seemingly resigned himself, aphotic eyes gazing into his, patiently awaiting Jim's impending intimate ministrations.

From what Jim had eventually perceived of the Vulcan's sexual tendencies, he preferred to be the dominant party—which he harbored no real objection to—and would hardly allow Jim the privilege of the lead role. He'd steadily acknowledged the Vulcan's desire to impart that although he may be captain aboard his vessel, when it came to the bedroom, he was to be reduced to the rank of first officer—hell, he'd even happily demote himself to cadet as long as Spock didn't cease his exhilarating advances.

This abrupt submission was quite irregular.

"Spock?" Jim inquired gently, tracing the pads of his fingers along the smooth prominent jawline. "What's wrong?"

A pale hand cupped over the back of his, the dark eyes closing—a very vulnerable, human gesture.

That only increased his concerns.

"Spock?"

"_You desire release and control as you were deprived of such in the prior circumstance. I am offering my mate what he essentially requires."_

The voice had been intangibly soft in his mind, overlaid with a tone that elicited a shiver to crawl along his spine.

Frowning slightly, he replied dismally, "I don't require anything. In fact, this should be reversed—_you_ werethe one shot after all! We _should _be going after that bastard and—"

He was promptly curtailed as the Vulcan slatted their lips together in a dizzying kiss, the connection blazing to life as the voice filtered in once more, _"We will re-address the matter once you are satiated, T'hy'la." _

Smiling into the kiss, Jim diverted his attention to the shimmering glow.

_That's a pretty fancy way to tell me to shut up._

*******Unexpectedly, hands gripped his arms, forcing him to alternate their position again—Spock's breaths tickling the shell of his ear as the dense body mass pinned him with ease.

"I do not desire your silence." He stated with a husky, low tone—grinding his hips against Jim's half-mast erection, eliciting a simultaneous groan from his lips.

"Then what is it you want?" Jim breathed, inhaling sharply as teeth clamped down on the lobe of his ear.

The dark undertone to his usual meticulous vernacular sent a shudder through him with anticipation as he spoke, "My name on your lips until you are rendered incoherent."

Before Jim was able to conjure up a response, the Vulcan's lips ensnared his hungrily—simultaneously rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, coaxing Jim's erection to its full potential. He whimpered against the bruising force of the kiss, hastily surrendering to the intruding tongue as it gained entrance—attempting to shift any part of his body under his restraints, but to no avail.

Dammit he _really_ wanted to touch him.

Spock released him abruptly, sliding down the length of his body until his face became level with the notable bulge. Fingers hooking onto the rim of his pants, he gently slid them down Jim's legs at an almost painfully slow pace, removing the boxers along with them. He hissed as a rough tongue trailed along the shaft, a hand methodically stroking along the throbbing extremity in tune with the taunting ministration. One of Jim's hands fisted the sheets, the other sought out the silky ebony strands of the Vulcan's hair of its own volition—threading his finger through it and gripping tightly as his mouth suddenly encompassed him with a heady, wet heat.

"_Fuck_." Jim stated emphatically, breaths ragged as the delicious mouth worked at him—billowing pleasure rolling over him, arching his hips into the sensation, "God…Spock, _don't stop_."

A low growl emitted from the Vulcan's throat, vibrating the shaft as he took in his full length, dark eyes glancing up to regard him with a possessive stare, pupils blown wide. The sensitive head contracted as it penetrated the entrance to Spock's throat, ripping a lustful cry from his lips. His legs trembled as Spock continued, milking him with incredible stamina, the muscles prominent in his jaw with each nearly tormenting lick.

With his brain hazed with pleasure, it barely registered that this was the first time Spock had initiated fellatio—seeing as Jim was usually the one willing to offer—and the very thought forced another pleasurable cry from him as he teetered on the edge of orgasm.

"_Give into me, James."_

The sensual innuendo erupted through the connection, pulling him over the ledge as he jutted his hips, his release spilling into the welcoming orifice without restraint. Face contorting as he rode through it, Jim promptly flopped back onto the mattress flaccidly, chest caving as he panted, basking in the sensation of the afterglow.

Bed dipping, he watch through half-lidded eyes as the Vulcan loomed over him—pale torso almost luminescent, admiring the dark contrast of hair decorating his chest just above the bandaging.

Panting heavily, he rasped through short intervals of the breaths, "Fuck, Spock."

Something dark and primitive fleeted through his eyes at the comment, "Only if you command it, _Captain_."

His eyes widened marginally at the use of the title, a moan emitting from him as his member twitched with interest. Spock had never engaged in dirty talk—usually refraining from speaking at all while copulating. Suddenly, he was extremely aware that the Vulcan's previous declaration to render him speechless was indeed valid—heart palpitating from the exhilarating notion.

Swallowing thickly, he focused solely on projecting a firm voice as he stated, "That's an _order_, Mr. Spock."

Another growl emanated from him as heated hands grasped Jim's thighs, bending them toward his torso, the Vulcan's erection brushing against his perineum as he settled between them. Jim was about to mention the missing component of lubricant when a finger dove inside the puckered entrance, probing and pushing before a second was added, scissoring him open painfully. It wasn't until the fingers hastily retreated and the large shaft penetrated him that he realized the Vulcan understood, and desired not to prolong the pain.

He hissed as Spock sheathed himself inside him. Pulling out slightly and glimpsing at Jim with a moment's hesitation before driving the double ridged head against his prostrate, sending a trundle of pain and pleasure over him. His spine bowed, grasping the toned arms in an iron vice as the pain began to dull, spikes of pleasure replacing it as Spock successfully located the sensitive bundle of nerves with each powerful thrust. Jim's shaft had regained its solid structure, throbbing immensely against the Vulcan's waist—desiring to be touched.

Releasing Jim's thigh, a hand extended toward his face, closing his eyes as the pads of the fingers promptly located the designated psi-points.

_A burst of colors exploded over the plane of his subconscious—sensations and thoughts coursing through him at an incredible rate. He wasn't quite sure which belonged to whom as he felt himself at both ends of the spectrum. It was overwhelming, the sensation of the erect cock brushing against his midsection, the feeling of being penetrated—the dull ache in his chest. _

_Pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain. _

_Seeing the face of both the Vulcan and himself lost in pure ecstasy—dizzying, disorienting, exceedingly intoxicating, he desired more. _

_The glow of the connection intensified as the pressure built, nearly blinding him— bathing him with the mixture of their arousals, their orgasms just barely within reach. _

Then the fingers abruptly disconnected at the very moment Jim released, a string of unintelligible words cascading from him as his orgasm pooled, warm and sticky between them. Through bleary eyes, he noted the twitch at the corner of the Vulcan's lips, not needing to delve into his mind to decipher the fact he was pleased he had accomplished his personal mission. With two final thrusts, Spock released, an elongated breath rushing from parted lips as his body succumbed to nearly violent spasms, gripping the headboard—the metal groaning under the pressure.

Jim analyzed him carefully, memorizing every twitch of muscle, the furrow of his brow as he rode through it—the slight tussle of his hair, the faint green flush across his delicate features.*******

"Fucking…beautiful…" Jim murmured as the Vulcan imperceptibly relaxed, eyelids fluttering open to regard him with a remarkable tender gaze.

"As are you." He stated nearly breathlessly, leaning down until their foreheads compressed together, whispering softly, "_So dawn goes down today, nothing gold can stay_." Brushing his lips against Jim's softly, he stated, "Stay gold, _T'e'tum-veh_, my _T'hy'la_. Stay gold."

* * *

He had foreseen it, given the fact he had been around the man for the majority of his life, it wasn't difficult to predict—unable to fight the spiteful grin advancing on his features as the man's eyes widened with consternation. Jim completely tuned out Winona's wailings as he absorbed the moment, gratified as the officers shoved the struggling man into the wall, snapping handcuffs onto his wrists.

Frank was never a bright one—accompanying Winona to their lodgings was a prime example of that. Of course he'd seek revenge, barging into the inn with George's pistol still latched firmly in his hand. It was a shame for him that he hadn't taken a sober moment to envisage any possible scenarios such as the authorities awaiting his arrival, warrant for attempted murder in hand.

It was priceless, a moment he'd been anticipating for far too long.

"I should've killed you while you were still just a whiny little brat!" He bellowed, struggling, features tainted a deep crimson.

"Should-a, would-a, could-a, Frank." Jim stated icily, smirking slightly as the man snarled with rage.

As the men began to drag Frank out of the door, he spat vehemently, "One of these days, you'll die just like that so-called hero! I'll see to it!"

Jim barked a harsh, incredulous laugh, "Good luck with that."

Winona stumbled after him as they eventually shoved him out the main doors, tears streaming in incessant rivers down her hollowed cheeks. Jim shook his head at her pitiful display, bending down to retrieve their belongings from the floor, and pivoting on his heel to head toward their room. The Vulcan had respected his plea to remain behind after nearly an hour of irritating back and forth banter, and Jim only reigning victor with a promising threat of an unexpected ice-cold water bath as he slept—glowering at him in that Vulcan-like way as he reluctantly agreed to the terms.

Jim chucked the bags into the corner as he entered, Spock ascending fluently from the chair at the _comm. _unit, his semblance all but radiating his eagerness.

"You are unharmed?"

He beamed, flattered by his feeble attempts to detain his blatant concern, "Not a scratch."

Nodding almost imperceptibly, shoulders slouching slightly as he deflated, "That is fortunate."

"Yeah." Jim concurred, noticing a flicker on the unit's screen. "Are you on a call?"

"_Indeed he is."_ A familiar baritone floated through the speakers, instantly uplifting Jim as he bustled through the room, brushing passed his Vulcan as he promptly perched himself in front of the screen.

"Where the hell did you run off to? Abandoning me like that after testifying." Jim accused with mock-anger.

The elder Spock's lips twitched slightly at the corner as though amused; however, his eyes retained a sense of solemnity, _"Ah, forgive me—I had not intended to do so."_

Jim furrowed his eyebrows, the soft, strenuous tone of the elder not resonating well with him, "I forgive you. Hey…is something wrong? You seem…different."

Releasing an audible breath, the elder stated dolefully, _"I must admit, Jim, I harbored no qualm to withhold this from you. However, I had rather hoped my younger counterpart would be the one to disclose the information in my stead." _

He sure as hell didn't like the sound of that.

"What is it?" Jim demanded suspiciously, shooting an indignant glare over his shoulder at the dark figure standing rigid at parade rest—face deadpanned.

Hesitating for a fleeting moment, the tender brown eyes examined Jim carefully, _"I wish to impart my final farewells and bequeath certain personal belongings to you both."_

Jim was certain the blood drained from his face, "What?" Chuckling a bit hysterically, he pressed on with incredulity, "What the hell are you saying?"

"_My remaining time is unprecedented at the moment as you are aware. I fear I will not be present for your anticipated arrival. Should I not be, I wish to entrust the arrangements to you." _

Nonplussed, he gaped at the screen, his chest constricting as the information steadily sunk in, anger stirring within his core, "No. I don't want to hear it. I'll call you at another time."

"_Jim—"_

"Bye." He cut him off with bitterness, cutting the transmission with haste.

A palpable silence draped over the room as he remained seated, breathing slow, deep breaths—centering himself to the best of his abilities as his mind reeled. After several agonizingly silent moments, he clumsily ascended from the chair, rounding on the Vulcan who hadn't budged an inch.

"How long have you known!" It wasn't a question, and his tone unfortunately held no affect to Spock's stoic demeanor.

"Since our encounter at your trial."

"And you didn't bother to tell me?" He barked, advancing on him with two daunting steps.

"I was requested to omit the information at the time—"

"How could you do that—how dare you!"

"Jim…"

Vision unexpectedly blurring, he turned away, and marched incredibly vexed toward the window—ordering the shades to disperse. Dense clouds had settled over the midday sun, bathing the world in a dampening grey—ironically reflecting his current mood. Resting his head against his forearm, he leaned heavily against the window, staring vacantly out into the field beyond the inn.

"I'm so tired of losing people I care about." He choked out at length, swallowing to attempt to ease the lump forming at the base of his throat.

"Death is inevitable." The soothing monotone stated from directly behind him, "It is an inescapable fate for all beings."

"I escaped it."

A short pause, "Indeed."

"You escaped it." Jim rambled, blinking rapidly as he forced the unshed tears to remain stationary.

Hands swiftly eased around his waist, arms gently cradling him against the heat of the Vulcan's body, "Perhaps the prospect is not as undesirable for him." He murmured softly, placing a delicate kiss against Jim's temple, "He does not wish you to grieve."

"I want to see him before…" Jim whispered, trailing off—a soft sob escaping him.

Suddenly, he was locked in Spock's embrace, held protectively as he was consoled—quietly listening to the soothing foreign words being murmured to him with a softened tone. As he leaned heavily against the solid form, he replayed the words the elder had imparted upon their meeting repetitively in his head—forcing the tears from his eyes.

"_I have been and always shall be, your friend."_

* * *

**A/N: A bit of an emotional rollercoaster with this chapter—sorry about that. On the upside, Frank got what was coming to him (that's good right?). Thank you for reading and please review!**


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N: Many thanks to my new beta: HyenaGreyscale!**

* * *

**T'nash-veh**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

James Tiberius Kirk was dead.

Returning from an unanticipated and prolonged visit to Earth's Vulcan Embassy, Serenity found the man splayed supine on the mattress. Various bottles of alcohol he somehow acquired were scattered in a slovenly perimeter around him—mostly in fragments—while red-rimmed blue eyes stared vacantly toward the ceiling—the recognizable photo clutched loosely in his hand. She wasn't certain how to react; the initial shock perplexing her as she never before had experienced death—finding herself gravitating towards him, a hand extending, brushing the pads of her fingers against the icy flesh of his face. Grief was illogical, as death was imminent for all living creatures—inevitable—yet she was notably perturbed as she examined his body bereft of life.

His integrated memories still at her disposal, she promptly sifted through them and called for the one man James had sought comfort in the most, the man he trusted beyond all conceivable measure. That particular man arrived no more than ten minutes later, hazel eyes coated heavily with a haunted emotion. She permitted him inside the hotel room and he hastily brushed passed her without preamble.

She silently pursued him to the sleeping quarters, observing him as he approached the bedside, shoulders visibly slumping, mouth agape, absorbing the scene before him. A trembling hand suddenly outreached, hovering hesitantly above the blond man's head, but otherwise remaining stationary.

"You…idiot," The man rasped, voice barely audible, "You goddamn idiot. You should've called me…I would have…I could have…" Producing his tricorder, he clumsily examined James, his own breath notably labored once he concluded. Unexpectedly, the man collapsed onto the mattress beside him—burying his face into his hands. "I should've known—how could I have been so damn blind?"

"Doctor, what is the cause of death?"

Although the question was quite logical, the man glanced up with sheen to his eyes, blatantly indignant, "Good God…don't you have _any_ sense of humanity? A decent person would at least be grieved, _sympathetic_ before up and demanding answers!"

Her eyebrow arched, confounded, "My apologies. I did not find it logical to succumb to grief due to a natural—"

"_Logical_?" He spat vehemently, rising dauntingly to his feet, "_Dammit!_ Logic has nothing to do with this! A man—your…" He trailed off abruptly, "Well, he's _dead_, and you can't even bring yourself to _feel _anything for him?"

Nonplussed by the acute reaction, she glanced toward the bed, analyzing him carefully, "I do not know if I am capable."

A disbelieving sound penetrated the small space, the man muttering emphatically, "A typical Vulcan…just like him."

A pang of something indescribable struck her at the comment.

"Doctor," She began, but was instantly curtailed as he attempted to stifle a sob, turning away from her and reseating himself beside the corpse of a once remarkable captain.

"Liver failure…" His voice cracked, "All that damn drinking…kept reassuring me he was fine...that he was happy." A cynical snort, "Like hell he was. I should've been there. Should've retired regardless of…_damn_ _convincing kid_."

She approached him, his backside facing her—tentatively placing a hand onto his trembling shoulder. It was an involuntary response yet seemingly effective. After several moments of quietly consoling the man, he finally collected himself, turning to face her, tear tracks drying on the florid cheeks of his sullen face.

"Have you informed _him_ yet?"

"I have not."

The doctor's hazel eyes widened marginally before darkness manifested within them, stating incisively, "Good, that hobgoblin doesn't deserve to know."

Disregarding his contemptuous remark, she studied him carefully, pondering if this man could possibly be induced to assist her, "It appears you may have extensive knowledge of my person, doctor." She stated profoundly, "By mere responses and reactions, I've conjectured that you are also aware of the predicament that subsequently produced this unfortunate end result."

A deep crease appeared over his brow, "Of course I'm aware! I was his best friend for God's sake!"

"Then I presume you would be agreeable to aid me in a time stream repair that could initially save his life?"

The doctor's expression contorted to that of absolute bewilderment, "What? Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting? That isn't possible!"

"Quite the contrary; it is indeed possible," Folding her arms behind her, she clasped her hands at the small of her back, scrutinizing him heavily, "Do you desire to save him, Doctor?"

He examined her face with uncertainty before a strained whisper escaped his lips, "Yes."

* * *

"Listen, if you're about to attempt time travel, you can't go looking like that." McCoy groused, rummaging through a tattered bag. The apartment he inhabited was considerably small; however, she was pleased, after weeks of preparation—and the dispirited funeral—the time had arrived.

"I do not see the potential defect of my garments. They are the standard attire of my race."

He turned to her then, hazel eyes regarding her seriously, "How many Vulcans do you see around here—especially young ones?"

Furrowing her eyebrows, she stated, "I admit the Vulcan to Human ratio is quite meager by comparison."

"Exactly," He concurred, gathering a set of clothes into his arms, "If you don't want to stick out like a sore thumb, you need a disguise." Extending the pile toward her, she tentatively accepted, inspecting them thoroughly. "They belonged to my daughter; she's outgrown them of course—good thing I still had some lying around."

"I see," She replied levelly, analyzing the faded blue material, "Thank you, Doctor McCoy."

"Call me Uncle Leonard."

She ticked her head slightly in confusion, "You are not a sibling to either of my parents, why should I address you as such?"

The man snorted, eyes rolling to the ceiling in a peculiar gesture, grumbling, "I can't take much more of this." Returning his attention to her, he clarified, "Jim and I were close, basically like brothers. He considered my daughter his niece and vice versa. Now, quit acting like that green-blooded machine for a minute and call me by what I told you."

Her lips twitched, something akin to amusement overcoming her, "Thank you…Uncle Leonard."

"There," He breathed, folding his arms over his chest in triumph, "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now get dressed and meet me in the living room."

She dressed systematically, observing herself in the mirror with increased interest—the outfit strangely befitting. If the events had not taken place, would she have eventually worn such garments during her travels to Earth? Would she have resided on the magnificent planet or journeyed through space? A multitude of outcomes to mull over, yet she had little time to allow for it.

Emerging from the bedroom, she padded over to the man who had just placed the phaser she requested he'd acquire for her onto the coffee table along with a peculiar domed hat. He glanced up at her approach, a smile expanding on his features, but not quite reaching his eyes, illustrating his affliction.

"Dressed like that, you look more like Jim," His voice caught—picking up the hat and swiftly placing it upon her head, "This will hide those pointy ears of yours and the blond top section of your hair. Knowing Jim, he won't catch onto you if you stay in disguise, but don't speak too much." Staring down at her momentarily, she felt something akin to surprise as he unexpectedly embraced her, pulling her against him, whispering against her ear, "Thank you, Serenity."

She automatically tensed with the physical contact, "I do not understand."

The response only prompted him to squeeze tighter, "You don't need to understand, little darlin'. Just make sure he's happy, alright?"

"I will…attempt to do so," She stated warily, relieved as he relinquished her.

"Good girl. Now, get out of here; I don't want to see you back here in this timeline, you hear me?" He chided gently, winking, and handed her the phaser.

Nodding almost imperceptibly in response, she dug the small sleek device from her pocket and ran her thumb along the nodules—setting the specific time, date, and coordinates she desired. Pocketing the phaser, she permitted one last glance toward him.

"Keep yourself safe," He breathed dismally.

"To purposely seek danger would be illogical," She replied levelly.

"Well," He chuckled, shaking his head, "you obviously didn't know your father very well. Vulcan genes or not, you're still a Kirk. That reckless side's in there somewhere."

"Indeed?" Her mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile—strangely finding comfort in the notion. Raising her hand in the _ta'al,_ she stated, "Live long and prosper, Uncle McCoy."

He attempted to mirror her, struggling for several seconds before grunting with frustration, opting to wave slightly instead, "Yeah…you too."

Pressing the main nodule, Serenity beheld bright swirling lights as they encased her—a peculiar tingling sensation rushed over her as the world faded away to white.

* * *

Jim was blatantly nervous.

Although he was still jubilant over the verdict of Frank—guilty as he anticipated—and acknowledged the man would rot away in prison, it was still not enough to diminish his nerves. Alternating between tapping his fingers and his foot repetitively, he peered out the window of the transport shuttle, watching almost dejectedly as the Earth shrank from view. He wasn't naturally intimidated by Vulcans; however, the last visit hadn't exactly been a joyous occasion and left him wary about the sort of welcome to expect. Vulcans were strictly logical creatures; surely they wouldn't express animosity.

"_James, be calm—relax,"_ The Vulcan's velvet voice eased into his mind, interloping with his private musings.

Jim snorted, scoffing at him, "I _am _relaxed, and get out of my head for a while."

"You are consistently fidgeting, which indicates your unease."

Huffing exasperatedly, he countered, "Maybe I'm just bored, ever think of that?"

"Your counter argument has already been refuted given the fact your thoughts are protruding quite forcefully through our adjoined link," He murmured expeditiously, glancing warily at the occupying passengers aboard.

"Well, then shut me out," He replied peevishly.

"I have attempted to do so; however, it appears your voice is distinctively prominent."

Jim grinned impishly, "I bet it is. I wonder just how far I can get before I break that precious control of yours and drive you insane."

"Irritation is a Human trait," The Vulcan retorted smoothly.

"Right," He said incredulously, "and you're not susceptible to that."

"Indeed, I am not."

Chuckling softly, he shifted in his seat, leaning heavily against the backrest—closing his eyes as a palpable silence filtered in the space between them. It was easy—too easy. He dove for the shimmering gold thread at the back of his skull, igniting it with the forceful touch of his mind, projecting his thoughts with as much intensity as possible—picking one of the classic protracted road trip tunes.

_5,000 bottles of beer on the wall! 5,000 bottles of beer! Take one down, pass it around—4,999 bottles of beer on the wall!_

After nearly an hour, and only reaching 4,267 bottles of beer, he elicited a reaction—although one he didn't quite expect. A sudden memory—clearly not one of his own—erupted through his mind. The image of himself pinned under strong arms, panting heavily, flesh slicked with perspiration as his eyes rolled toward the back of his head.

Jim jerked in his seat, instantly aroused, and panting heavily as the vision receded. He glanced toward the Vulcan beside him, irritated by the serene semblance—the man's eyes closed, sitting erect, and seeming unaffected.

_That's playing dirty!_

"_It was a logical option as I was aware it would potentially preoccupy your mind enough to discontinue the incessant tune."_

_So, it was irritating!_

"_On the contrary, it was merely disrupting my meditation."_

_You're such a liar._

"_Vulcans cannot lie."_

_Bullshit!_

"Jim, if you would refrain from your attempts to pester me, I could achieve a beneficial meditative state."

He huffed, feeling like a toddler being reprimanded, and indignantly crossed his arms over his chest—turning away to stare out the window once more. For the first time in weeks, he permitted his mind to wander to the _Enterprise_, and if he'd ever walk her decks again as her captain. It was disheartening picturing some man sitting in his chair, commanding his crew.

Something warm brushed against his hand, almost too quick for him to register, leaving behind the familiar tingly sensation. Not wanting to relent, he kept his focus on the passing stars with stubborn rebellion, attempting to ignore the warmth infiltrating his conscious.

"_T'hy'la..."_ The word whispered inside his mind, caressing him in places he couldn't fathom a voice could touch.

"Dammit, I can't stay mad at you," He whispered, glancing sidelong at the Vulcan whose aphotic eyes pierced him, disintegrating his malcontent demeanor. The corner of his mouth curled slightly, the same complacent aura he undeniably witnessed at the _Kobayashi Maru _hearing.

_Smug bastard._

Time eluded him as Spock took it upon himself to occupy his mind with what he could only describe as the language course from hell. Apparently mistaking him for a linguistics professional, the Vulcan endeavored to cram as many phrases and proper customs down his throat as possible. By the time _New Vulcan_ appeared beside the shuttle, Jim nearly shouted with joy—flagrantly relieved to escape the torturous mental classroom.

At least for now.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading and please review!**


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